


People like us are hard to love (that's why we need people like you to love us)

by ArchWriter



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: BAMF Stiles, Canon Compliant, Character Death, Character Development, Character Study, College, Drama, F/M, FBI Agent Stiles Stilinski, Gen, Growing Up, Lydia knows everything, M/M, Minor Character(s), More tags to be added, Multi, Nightmares, Original Character(s), Pack Dynamics, Pack Family, Pack Feels, Pining Derek, Polyamory Negotiations, Post-Canon, Post-Season/Series 06, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Redemption, Scott is a Good Alpha
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-14
Updated: 2018-09-14
Packaged: 2019-07-12 03:27:32
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 26,822
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15986651
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ArchWriter/pseuds/ArchWriter
Summary: “You know how he feels about you right?”He looked back at Lydia, whose gaze was on Stiles, her voice fond and soft, tone so misplaced from what she was saying. Like she didn't mind Stiles having eyes for someone who isn't her.“I’d have to be stupid not to notice.”“It’s one of his flaws, you know, alongside his fierce loyalty that constantly lands him in danger,” Lydia continued, voice soft, “he's always known how to love those who are hard to love.”~The actual Teen Wolf epilogue everybody wanted but didn't get.





	People like us are hard to love (that's why we need people like you to love us)

**Author's Note:**

> It's been one year since Teen Wolf aired its last episode. This is basically my take on what could have happened after the final episode - how I imagined everyone growing up beyond season 6.
> 
> This whole thing took me about a YEAR to write - and I still find stuff to edit and correct. I started writing this fic only a few weeks after the final episode aired, and only held out posting this long because of real life responsibilities and constant additions to the story.
> 
> I thoroughly enjoyed writing this story, and I hope you enjoy reading. :)

 

"Don't you ever feel frustrated about it?"

Stiles lowered his Abnormal Psychology textbook and looked over at Lydia, who was perched over on one of the stylish accent chairs in his apartment. She had glasses on, her hair up in a loose bun, and a pen in her right hand poised over a paper she was writing revisions on, temporarily forgotten in lieu of her question.

"About what Lydia?"

"That we left Beacon Hills with more questions than answers." Lydia looked up at him, a thoughtful expression on her face.

"What brought this on?"

"Just a passing thought. Aria told me a few stuff about fae and I just...had new questions. Over the many other questions I already had from _high school_ Stiles."

"Lyds, if we took the time to ask every question we had over the last four years since we got dragged into the supernatural business and look for the answers, we'd spend our lives getting five new questions for every half-answer we get."

"True. But maybe not with the two of us. I bet we could compile enough data to make a comprehensive compendium of the supernatural."

"Hmm. We could ask Deaton for info. And Peter and Theo. Former sociopathic supervillains always seem to be in the know of everything."

"We can ask Derek too. He seems to know more than he lets on."

"Derek? Captain Sourwolf? Mister I Am Not Of Many Words And Full Of Judgmental Eyebrows?"

"Yes, Stiles. Derek Hale. The werewolf you accused of murder when you were sixteen. Twice."

"He was _exonerated!_ "

 "Don't derail the conversation. Answer the question."

"What was the question again?"

Lydia huffed.

"Don't you ever feel frustrated about leaving Beacon Hills with more questions than answers?"

"Not really."

Lydia threw him a curious look.

"...And why is that?"

Stiles wasn't really sure why that was his answer, or when, upon answering Lydia's question, he realized he stopped asking himself all these questions that three to four years ago, would have demanded his complete attention to the point of being perpetually distracted and sleeping late nights until he got his answers.

Growing older and living his experiences though, Stiles was finally seeing, was in itself the answer to his questions.

 

* * *

 

"I have a feeling I didn't agree to this to begin with."

"Hm-hmmm."

Stiles glanced at the red-head standing to his right, holding up two pairs of shoes, one in each hand, eyes narrowed in what Stiles knew was her critiquing face. They had already spent an hour in this particular shop, Lydia weighing to decide which pair of shoes to get, and it had been the fourth store they had been to today.

Lydia didn't really need Stiles to be with her to do shoe-shopping - she does well enough on her own - but it does help that he, the doting boyfriend he is, follows her around as he carries her multiple bags of purchases, all the while complaining he was hungry.

Which he was, because this was _the fourth store they were in to for buying shoes._

"Hmm. I don't know about either of them. What do you think?"

Lydia also didn't really need Stiles's opinion on shoes, but Stiles was always ready to share his opinion. "Get the pastel one. I think it'd go well with that dress you bought earlier. Also, you really don't need dark colored shoes since you almost always wear those awesome boots Argent gave you as your birthday present."

Pursing her lips in thought, Lydia shrugged her shoulders, setting down the pair Stiles didn't choose. Stiles looked at her give him an appreciative glance, like he actually gave some helpful input on making her decision on what to wear. It made him feel wanted, like the genius Lydia actually _did_ listen to him, despite half the times he opened his mouth was to shower her with praises and adoration, question her decisions, and go on long rants and babble about the most random stuff, having spent too long on the internet or being high on caffeine from staying up late to get his many, _many_ college papers done in advance and on time.

...Okay, so Lydia does listen to him a lot, but he couldn't help think that she doesn't sometimes because of the Sausage Incident™ -

\- which he will promptly stop thinking of because he absolutely does _not_ want any part of his brain to go there and remember any of what transpired months ago, so he will stop _thinking of it -_

"Surprisingly insightful, Stilinski. I'm getting the pumps then," Lydia said, breaking Stiles out of his train of thought, "burgers and curly fries, after?"

Lydia also didn't really like burgers and curly fries, or any of the greasy diner foods that Stiles and the other pack members liked, but she was nothing if not willing to compromise, if it meant pleasing her boyfriend. Stiles beamed at her.

"You know me so well."

 

* * *

 

"Why did you take me shopping with you?"

After burgers, curly fries, and milkshakes, Stiles looked at Lydia opposite him, picking daintily at the last curly fry on her plate. She scrunched her face in a thoughtful expression over the fry, and seemingly coming to a solid choice, dipped it in her milkshake's whipped cream and ate it. Stiles approved.

"You didn't really expect me to carry all that on my own, did you?" she asked, arching an eyebrow at him and gesturing to the bags of dresses, accessories, and shoes beside Stiles.

"I know very well you can handle yourself even with a dozen shopping bags."

Lydia sighed. "We haven't seen each other in personal for a while. Skype could only do so much."

Stiles smiled. "That sounds almost convincing."

Lydia scoffed. "Wanting to see my boyfriend in personal is an _almost_ convincing reason?"

"Stop deflecting," Stiles took a sip of his milkshake, "what's bugging you, huh? Tell dear ole Stiles what's wrong."

"There is nothing dear about you," Lydia replied haughtily, and Stiles just threw her an amused look. He stayed silent, waiting for the red-head to tell.

Lydia drew her lips in a thin line. "I just felt...like I wasn't being present enough. With you."

A frown came to Stiles's mouth. "Lydia, why would you think that? We've been through this already."

"It's nothing, really," and Stiles hated the sad smile Lydia wore when she said that. Self-deprecating didn't look good on Lydia. "Just that compared to Scott who is in UCLA and me who is only a few states away from your university, the two of you are almost always together. Plus, I know Derek and Cora drop by at your place extensively from time to time."

It was not true by any means - with Scott still in California and him being in Washington, the Alpha and Stiles literally had an entire country between them. Scott and him reached a mutual compromise though - that they would be in each other's lives as much as they could, constantly texting and talking on Skype more often than he does with Lydia. The banshee sometimes teasingly remarked that she felt there was three people in their relationship, and Scott would joke that he didn't mind being Stiles's mistress.

Derek and Cora, on the other hand, was entirely different conversation.

"It only seems like that because we talk about each other all the time. And we're much the same. I still haven't forgotten about the hunter incident."

Lydia winced a little at that. It was a mutual decision between her and Scott to leave Stiles uninformed about what happened in the summer before their first year starting college. After the whole incident was resolved, Stiles gave them an earful about it, and was only calmed down by the Sheriff and, surprisingly, Derek.

_"You had finally gotten out of Beacon Hills after being temporarily erased from existence and years of fighting the supernatural. Of course they'd want to keep you out of it," the Sheriff explained. "And you did the same to me years ago, didn't you?"_

_"But they needed me!"_

_"They needed you safe," Derek spoke, looking straight at him, "you would do the same for them, if it was you. You would have kept any of them uninvolved if it meant keeping them safe."_

Which was ironic, since Stiles's first day in college involved seeing a running half-naked Derek Hale in a surveillance footage for class, which was decidedly the day he realized he could never really get himself, or anyone of them, out of this supernatural shindig.

Lydia opened her mouth to defend herself and Stiles raised his hand to stop her. That had been more than two years ago, and it was pointless to argue about it, especially since Scott and Lydia only did that in Stiles's best interest.

"But that's not the point. Me and Scott do talk to each other a lot, but we hardly see each other in person these days. Unlike us, we actually have dinner together at least once a month." Stiles didn't even know how explain Derek - the man was just there, back in his life when he least expected it. He and Cora, really.

Lydia seemed to be mollified a bit, but Stiles could still see the trace of something bothering her. She sighed and visibly let what it was bothering her go. Stiles knew better though.

He reached across the table and took Lydia's hand in his, rubbing his thumb over her hand. Lydia looked visibly pleased, but Stiles knew, under all those smiles and makeup and offhand remarks lied secrets and worries he knew Lydia refuses to let the world see. And even if she wasn't a banshee, Stiles knew Lydia screamed inside her head when everything felt too much, and he promised himself he'd be there for her, even if they were miles apart.

He has not loved Lydia for the last nine years only to fail to see her.

"Hey. I love you."

Lydia's cheeks color in response, turning her hand over so Stiles could slot his fingers with hers, and she allows herself a small smile, like she's hiding it, and Stiles knows Lydia feels better.

"I love you too Stiles."

They stay in companionable silence for a little while longer, holding hands across the table and watching people out the window of the diner, Stiles basking in the feeling of everything that he has this - _how lucky is he to have this moment and not have it only as a dream?_

A few minutes later, Lydia raised her hand and signaled a waitress for the bill, and the two of them split the bill before Stiles helped Lydia load her shopping bags in her car. Stiles shut the trunk of Lydia's car with a firm _thump_ and walked over to her side of the car.

"Call me when you get back to your place," Stiles said, lowering himself to Lydia's eye level as she lowered her car window.

"I will," and Stiles took his fingers to tip Lydia's face for a kiss, feeling himself smile against her lips. Pulling back, he looked at Lydia's radiant smile, all affectionate and fond.

"You sure you can't stay for the night?"

"It's Tuesday, Stiles. I really have to prepare for my presentation on Thursday. You know, the presentation I bought clothes for with you today?"

"You can prepare for it with me, here. I can help."

"You will mostly distract me from work than actually help me."

"Are you calling me distracting?"

Lydia rolled her eyes as Stiles grinned at her.

"Drive safely."

"Try not to get yourself in trouble at work okay?" Lydia's eyes sparkled in amusement.

Stiles laughed and waved at Lydia's car as she drove off, only leaving the diner's parking lot when he couldn't see her anymore.

 

* * *

 

The first thing Stiles heard upon entering his apartment was his shower running. It didn't really register to him that someone other than him was using the shower, not until Derek Hale strode out of his bathroom in nothing but a towel.

"Oh my _god_ , what are you _doing_ here?!"

Derek raised an eyebrow at him. Stiles noticed that Derek's eyebrows were as judgmental as ever. "I took a shower."

"I can _see_ that! Why are you taking a shower here?"

"It was close by."

"Why did you need a shower in the first place?"

"I couldn't exactly roam the streets of Washington covered in blood."

"Why would you - Why would you even be  - you know what, don't even tell me, plausible deniability and all that. _Jesus Christ_."

Derek shuffled over to the bedroom - _Stiles's bedroom_ \- presumably to get changed. Stiles sighed and threw his bag on the couch, and shrugged out of his hoodie and tossed it with his bag before making his way to the kitchen.

Derek followed him a minute later, in a blood-free dark Henley and sweatpants that Stiles knows he kept in a box of Derek's stuff in his closet from all the multiple times over the years he's hoarded the werewolf's clothes from dangerous situations.

"I see you found a clean change of clothes."

"There were a lot of clothes in your closet," Derek says quietly.

Stiles kept a lot of the pack's clothes in his closet - clothes he shared with Scott, some of Lydia's dresses and shoes, some of Malia's shirts, a scarf that belonged to Isaac, katana gloves that Kira left at the Stilinski house at some point, a change of clothes belonging to Liam, and of course, Derek's clothes that he discarded at Deaton's and here in Washington that Stiles decided he'd keep.

Just in case...just in case the pack comes to his neck of the woods. From time to time.

“Lydia likes to think she owns half my closet,” Stiles deflected.

“Lydia does own half your closet.”

“…Does she really have that many clothes in my closet?”

“Unless some of them are your dresses, then yes, there are many of her dresses in your closet.”

"Well to be fair, I do look quite fetching in some of them."

Derek leveled him a look, and Stiles only waggled his eyebrows at him. The werewolf only sighed, before padding over to the table adjacent to the kitchen. Stiles was making coffee and took out two mugs from the cupboard - and Stiles briefly wonders what kind of madness has possessed him that got him to the point that Derek Hale has his own mug in his apartment and even _clothes in his closet_ \- and takes out the milk and sugar for the werewolf at the table.

"How's Lydia?"

"...How'd you know I was with her? Were you creeping on us today?"

"You smell of her."

"...You didn't sound less like a creep at all."

"Stiles."

"She's great. We went out shopping for clothes she'd wear for an event on Thursday, where she would undoubtedly floor everyone with her charms and genius. Then we went out for burgers."

Derek let out an amused hum, taking the mug of coffee offered to him, and poured a generous amount of milk in his mug. Stiles took the seat opposite Derek on the table, and stared at the werewolf unabashedly.

"I never took you for a milk coffee kind of guy, Derek."

"And yet I am."

Stiles pours some milk and sugar in his before taking a sip, letting the warmth of the mug in his hands soothe him.

"Are you okay, Derek?"

Derek looked at him and smiled ruefully, knowing what Stiles wanted to ask without saying it outright. Stiles wanted to know what Derek was doing out tonight, why he had been covered in blood, and why it is that Derek always always _always_ finds his way in Stiles's apartment after shit like that happens, but he can't find himself to ask it.

But Derek gets him anyway, so in some way, Stiles doesn't have to worry about using all the right or wrong words with him. Derek wasn't one for words anyways.

"I'm alright Stiles. Don't worry."

 

* * *

 

In a small corner at the back of his closet, Stiles kept a small box tucked away from anyone's notice. Stiles knows Derek knows of this box; he had asked about it once and Stiles showed it to him, but other than Derek, nobody knows Stiles kept a box of stuff that belonged to different people to a different Stiles in a different time.

It contained exactly four things: an old picture of a woman and a baby, a leather bracelet with a single silver charm, a gold locket, and an old beat-up single band ring.

He hid the box behind the pack's stuff in his closet, well enough not  to be spotted easily but obvious enough not to get lost in the mess.

Stiles takes out the box sometimes and looks at its contents, especially on nights it feels hard to breathe. He doesn’t want to think of all the people he wished he – and the pack – didn’t have to lose, but he does anyway.

It helps remind him never to take any of the people around him for granted, and to never forget the ones who no longer were. They deserved to be remembered.

~

"How was your presentation?"

"I had a few people sponsor my research. I think it went well."

"Don't even bother going for modesty. They're totally eating out of hand, aren't they?"

"Hmmm."

"Lydia Martin you are forever a goddess. Those rich money sluts won't know how to deal with the force that is you."

"Language, Stiles."

"Are we getting dinner? We're getting dinner. I will go to Massachusetts to wine and dine you for your success with the promise of sexy times."

"I'll just take the wine and dine part, thanks."

" _Lydiaaaaaaaaaaaaaa._ "

"Wear those jeans I got for you last month. You look good in them."

"All the more for you to stare at my ass?"

"When are we getting dinner?"

"Tomorrow sound good? My class lets out early every Saturday."

"See you for dinner, Stiles."

"Just dinner?"

Stiles couldn't help but savor Lydia's laugh before ending the call. He's totally gonna find those jeans.

 

* * *

 

When he was a child, Scott McCall liked to imagine of life at 30, where he would be cop like the Sheriff, and Stiles would be a big computer mega-genius. It would be him and Stiles against the world, and the two of them solving crimes and busting bad guys and playing all the latest video games and being rich.

It was simpler times.

By the age of 21 though, he was already a regular at Deaton's vet clinic, finishing vet school a two-hours trip away from Beacon Hills, and serving full-time Alpha of the McCall pack. Across the country was Stiles in the pre-FBI program in Washington, studying to be in law enforcement.

It was a far cry from the future he imagined himself having as a child of 8 years old.

"Are they all coming back home for spring break? The pack?"

Scott turned around to see Alec Garcia, one of the younger pack members, standing by the door, holding two kittens in his arms. After he saved Alec from a group of hunters chasing him down a couple years back, the young teen moved in with him to Beacon Hills, his transition made easier by his mom, Chris Argent, and the Sheriff.

The kittens meowed as if repeating Alec's question, and a carefree smile tugged at Scott's lips.

"Yeah. Even the guys overseas are coming back."

Staying close became hard after they had to go to college. Stiles had moved out to Washington earlier than any of them did for college, and the only reason they did see each again was because of the war with the hunters in Beacon Hills.

After that was resolved, Scott had to face the reality of them being miles away from each other. Stiles and Lydia were practically moving to the other side of the country, and Malia was moving to France. Jackson and Ethan, after extended talking and negotiations around responsibilities and connections, confided in Scott that while being a pack of two omegas in London over the last two years had been pleasantly challenging, they decided to ask to be in the pack. Derek smiled at him and Scott asked him if he still considered him his Alpha, as to which Derek snorted that ' _of course. No physical distance could sever our pack's bond'_ before bidding Scott farewell as he made his way back to South America, presumably back to Cora.

Liam, Mason, and Corey still had one year left in high school, and being closest to them while attending UCLA, Scott wasn't completely left packless. It helped that he and Stiles were almost always in contact, and he got the occasional text from Lydia and Derek asking him how he was. Malia, of course, kept a close and constant exchange with him.

Scott took charge of training Alec with Liam and Corey in Beacon Hills, and they were sometimes joined by Peter and more often by Theo, who always paired with Liam, and Mason took notes about the supernatural from Deaton.

Three years later though, Scott's small circle of a pack expanded and his connections flourished, making alliances with other packs and fighting against Monroe's fanatics of hunters, and slowly the McCall pack grew larger in influence before he realized it.

Mason went to Stanford for college, with Corey attending a community college nearby when they moved in together. Liam and Alec followed him to UCLA, and Scott knew Liam urged Theo to at least try for a nearby school that offered vocational courses to keep him close. Scott sometimes forgot that Theo wasn't formally invited into the pack, but with the time he spent so much with Liam, Scott could almost forgive the chimera for his previous transgressions.

Scott knew that Lydia reconnected with Danny and made friends with a fae named Aria in Massachusetts, while Stiles saved and made friends with a shapeshifter named Aspen during an FBI mission with his dad, Ralph McCall, in Quantico, Virginia. Derek also turned up in Virginia at some point, close to where Stiles was, with his sister Cora. Malia and Isaac met each other by chance in France, where they ended up saving a fifteen-year old selkie named Saoirse from bounty hunters, while Jackson and Ethan made friends with a Jason Callahan, who was a descendant of druid ancestry back in London.

Alec walked closer to Scott and handed the kittens to him, the Alpha making cooing noises at the small animals.

"You haven't been pulling too many shifts here at the vet's, right? You still have classes back on campus," Alec asked.

"Uh, I kinda maxed out my shifts since last month, remember? I need to complete the required number of hours of practical application in the field and then some for extra credit. I can't really afford to delay graduation."

"Didn't Stiles tell you not to exhaust yourself too much?"

"He did, but he's pretty much a hypocrite since _he_ exhausts himself on actual dangerous fieldwork."

“I think that’s a given, since he’s in the pre-FBI program.”

“FBI now,” Scott absently corrected Alec, “and he shouldn’t even be on the field that much. He’s only on those missions because my dad takes him when things seem a little more supernatural.”

It took Scott a full minute to realize what Alec had asked.

"Wait, how did you know Stiles told me off about pushing myself?"

"...I'm on Scott duty this month?"

"Scott duty? What the hell is a Scott duty?"

"It's a thing that me and Liam agreed to do for Stiles the last time he was here. He said you may be a True Alpha werewolf, but that doesn't exempt you from wearing yourself out like any other college student, or something like that," Alec sheepishly replied.

Scott remembers the regular calls and visits to his dorm room from Liam and Alec, and the regular texts from Mason and Corey. He also remembers the four of them coming to visit him, sometimes with Theo, and they would all play lacrosse at a nearby open field around UCLA.

Scott is immediately reminded how Stiles asked him, his mom, and Chris Argent to watch over his dad, especially his health, and how the three of them took turns making sure the Sheriff didn't push himself too hard on the job or ate anything that Stiles deemed would give his father a totally-avoidable-death-inducing heart attack.

It's with a mild sort of horror Scott realized that Stiles pulled the same scheme on him _using the betas_.

"I am not his dad!" Scott blurted out, indignant.

Alec only gave him an amused look before laughing lightly. "He's only looking out for you. He said we needed to babysit you as much as you take care of us.”

The young beta walked over to a shelf by the corner, pulling out a cat toy – a flexible rod with a fluffy ball at the end.

“Besides, we like looking after you. I at least know Liam does, and despite not being fully part of the pack, I can tell Theo cares, too.”

“The only reason Theo isn’t officially part of the pack is the same reason as Peter.”

“That they were the bad guys before?” Alec returned to Scott’s side as he set the kittens down, the young beta playing with the felines.

“Well, okay, yeah, maybe two reasons. That, and that I don’t know how the pack will react if I proposed that kind of idea. And well, Stiles, Malia, and Lydia haven’t really warmed up to Theo. To be honest, I think only you guys have been that welcoming to Theo.”

“As opposed to creepy and dramatic Peter?”

Scott sighed. “Strangely enough, we trust Peter. He’s smart, but not so much that he can pull anything over the pack with Stiles, Lydia, Malia, and Derek involved. And well, Peter's changed a lot since we first met him.”

“Sounds like a lot of beef happened with Peter.”

Scott chuckled as Alec continued playing with the kittens. Peter Hale circa 2012 was a whole can of worms Scott did _not_ want to rehash.

“I became a werewolf because of him, you know? He was an Alpha before, and me and Stiles were in the woods looking for a dead body and he bit me. Gave me the Bite.”

Alec stilled and stared at Scott in a mixture of shock and curiosity. “Peter was an Alpha? He was the one that bit you? And wait, why were you and Stiles looking for a dead body in the woods?”

“Yeah, and it’s been one furry thing after another, and I had Stiles with me all the way. I wasn’t always a good friend to Stiles back in those days, but he still stuck by me, you know? I guess thinking about it that way, I suppose it isn’t so strange for Stiles to rope you guys into something like ‘Scott duty’,” Scott said, putting air quotes on “Scott duty”.

Alec smiled. “From what Liam and the rest have been telling me about the pack over the years, you and Stiles really raise the standards for being best friends.”

“To tell you the truth, I don’t even see Stiles as just a best friend,” Scott shook his head, a fond look on his face, “he’s my brother, through and through.”

 

* * *

 

 

"...Is this a bad time for me to be here?"

"Hunh? Huh? Oh! Hey Lydia! I thought you wouldn't be here until for like, two hours."

"Finished and turned my work load in and decided to leave early. I would have delayed if I knew you had prior engagements before seeing me."

"Sorry, uh, I sort of insisted on the massage. Don't worry. Pretend this is normal. You know, like everything with our lives is."

"If seeing you lying on your front while being half-naked, oiled up and being massaged by Derek Hale as you moan in what I deduce is pleasure is the new addition to our normal, then by all means, _continue._ "

"Okay, when you say it like that, it does make what we're doing really sketchy."

"The alternative was to listen to you bitch about your sore muscles all day. I figured this would shut you up. Sorry if this is, uh, uncomfortable for you to see."

"Your hand on Stiles's ass begs to differ, Derek."

" _Dude!_ "

"Shut up or the next kneading I'm giving you breaks your spine."

"I think I want Italian tonight. I'm going to entertain myself in the mean time and I’m giving you an hour to finish, boys. And you're paying for dinner, Derek."

" _Why._ "

"Don't argue with her dude, that way lies madness and - oh. Unfh. Hngh, oh y _eaaaaahhhh..._ "

" _Half an hour boys!_ "

 

* * *

 

 

David Greenberg had a superpower.

It wasn't anything remarkable or amazing, not like the werewolves and creatures of Beacon Hills have since he was glaringly human, but for so long, Greenberg has thought that it was pretty cool how he could do what he did.

David was a wallflower.

To most people, it was easy to blend in the crowd, to draw attention away from you and be part of the mundane people that lived in Beacon Hills. But the thing was, it was difficult for him, especially when he was better at lacrosse than he let on (he had to fake being bad at the sport in order to not draw unwarranted attention towards him) and that he was essentially a well-off kid with above average looks that some would say could turn heads.

The temptation to stand out was always there, but he had to remind himself to stay hidden, keep a low profile, and never ever attract anyone's interest (he sort of failed the latter what with Coach Finstock always yelling his name in practice, but oh well).

The most difficult thing about living in Beacon Hills was knowing about the town in all its secrecy, and not being allowed to do anything about it.

His family was an old name to Beacon Hills, just not as distinguished as say, the Hales or the Martins. For generations, their family has kept the knowledge of the town's more unmentionable secrets, tasked with keeping watch and record, and unlike Emissaries like Deaton and Morell, they were forbidden to take action.

 _The Greenbergs were a book of Beacon Hills's secrets, and books don't do anything_ , David was told at a young age. He knew about the werewolves and other supernatural families in the county, about the Argents and the Hales and the fire, knew about the rogue Alpha, about the kanima, the Alpha pack, the darach, the fucking _nogitsune_ -

Point was, David was only saddled to watch everything to unfold. He was only human with no other incredible talent other than blending in the background, and even if he did want to interfere, there was no way he could take action that could reap benefits for him.

It was especially difficult to resist interfering when he attended the same school and classes as Scott McCall and Stiles Stilinski, the two people at the center of the latest clusterfuck that is Beacon Hills.

All throughout high school, Greenberg struggled to stay _out_ of the duo's attention. A long parade of individuals followed the two: Allison Argent, Derek Hale, Lydia Martin, Jackson Whittemore, Isaac Lahey, Erica Reyes, Vernon Boyd, Matt Daehler, Gerard Argent, Peter Hale, Jennifer Blake, Malia Tate, Kira Yukimura, Liam Dunbar, Jordan Parrish, Theo Raeken, Tamora Monroe - so many people that fell into Scott and Stiles's pace, bringing help and terror to the town; death and mystery and salvation.

It had been two years since they all graduated high school, and no major incidents had occurred since then, aside of course, from the existence of the supernatural to be well and wide-known in Beacon Hills. Supernatural families have come out of hiding and have made themselves known - Sheriff Stilinski, Chris Argent, and Melissa McCall taking the helm in assuring the town of its safety.

With some of the town’s biggest secrets out in the open, the Greenbergs had taken it upon themselves to open up more, to provide assistance and advice should anyone need it. They didn’t volunteer information – you had to ask them – but their willingness to help the town readjust after everything was making a huge impact, and in less than a year, it was like Beacon Hills had returned to a state of peace, just that the common sight of a werewolf or kitsune out in the open became more common place and accepted as normal.

Most of Scott McCall's pack had left the town for college, and he attended UCLA as well, so he wasn't short of seeing the True Alpha. Scott recognized him and greeted him on campus whenever they saw each other, and he would smile and greet back, but never engage in conversation. David preferred it that way; he wouldn't know what to say without giving himself away anyways.

During their second year, Scott cornered him and asked him about his true involvement with the supernatural, and David had no choice but to be honest.

“I’m sorry I couldn’t help from the beginning. But we’re a family that has to stay uninvolved. We’re secret keepers – the book of secrets to Beacon Hills’s unmentionables. ‘ _Books don't do anything_ ’ is our code, and I wasn’t going to break it knowing full well what happens when a family’s secret or code of conduct is broken.”

Scott gets the implication; the Hales’ broken secret that led to their demise, and the Argents’ broken code leading to much of their family’s fallout.

The Alpha forgives David, and strikes a deal with him: as long as they provide information and any form of assistance the Greenbergs are allowed to do when there’s supernatural trouble, the Greenberg family will be an allied family to the McCall pack – protection and services that the pack can do within reason.

David could all but say yes. He wasn’t an idiot; an alliance with the McCall pack is an honor. David thinks Scott is unaware; in reality, the McCall pack has actually grown to be one of the most influential supernatural groups in Eastern America. With Stiles and Lydia in Washington and Massachusetts doing college and recruitment, the Hale family’s old contacts, and four of their pack members in another continent, combined with their alliance with the Argent name, the McCall pack has slowly and steadily risen in popularity.

And David would know – the amount of information and talks that pass through the Greenbergs from other packs, covens, and organized groups trying to forge alliances with Scott is _mind-boggling_ ; it seriously baffles him how Scott does it.

Then again, Scott doesn’t do the Alpha work alone; he has his pack to count on, and just looking at how their pack works – their dynamics, lines of communication, and visible trust in one another – it’s easy to see why a lot of supernatural groups that have heard of the McCall pack and what went down in Beacon Hills in their high school years want to befriend the pack.

All in all, David is happy and when he told his family, they were all happy with the recent development, his parents no doubt already arranging to formally meet the True Alpha.

 

* * *

 

"How is it that you can eat little bunny rabbits during your full moon romps and still be so choosy with pork?"

"It’s bad Stiles. The meat isn’t good.”

“What do you mean it’s not good?”

“It smells wrong. It’s double dead meat. We’re getting meat somewhere else.”

“Wait, what? _Double dead meat_? What the fuck is that?”

“It means the animal died of sickness, which makes the meat of the animal unhealthy, but then it was butchered to be sold anyways. Dead by sickness. Dead by being butchered. It’s double dead.”

“…Are you serious? That is a _thing_? You mean this meat is actually deader than dead? Wow.”

“Yes Stiles, now put the fucking meat down, it smells disgusting.”

“Jeez Derek, alright, don’t wolf out in the supermarket, seriously.”

David reached the end of the aisle with his push cart, finding Stiles Stilinksi and Derek Hale in the frozen goods section. Their backs were turned away from him, and from his vantage point, they looked at ease and comfortable, clearly okay with being in each other’s space as they argued over groceries. It was pretty domestic, especially the arguing-about-the-groceries part, if David should say so himself.

“Stiles?”

“Huh? Oh, hey! Greenberg! Hah, imagine bumping into you here! How’s our favorite supernatural encyclopedia?”

“Stiles, be nice.”

“ _Good morning David, how absolutely charming it is to see you here today! Tell us, how are you these days? How are Karen and the kids?”_

David chuckled at Stiles’s antics. “I’m doin’ alright Stiles. And the kids are fine, Karen is baking cupcakes for the PTA bakesale.”

“Really? Aren’t you Stiles’s age? I didn’t know you had kids and a wife,” Derek threw him a confounded look.

“Oh my _god_ , Derek,” Stiles facepalmed. David laughed. It only took less than a second for Derek to pick up on the wild joke and the stutter in David's heartbeat to sink in.

“ _One of these days Stiles –”_

“Save it Sourwolf, your threats stopped being actually threatening years ago. Oh hey, Greenberg, are you free tomorrow? I was thinking me and Lydia could run some stuff with you, we’re compiling this book on the supernatural that’s less than a hunter’s bestiary and more of companion guide for the supernatural. Think you can meet up?”

“Huh? Yeah, sure, that sounds great!”

“I know. We’re calling it “ _The Idiot’s Guide to the Supernatural_ ”.”

“Lydia let you name it that?”

“No, she told us the book was going to be called “ _The Complete Compendium of the Supernatural, Magics, and Allied Human Practices_ ” since it was going to be filled with a lot of helpful information for both supernaturals and humans involved with us,” Derek answered.

“Wow. That - that sounds exciting! Text me when the time and place to meet up?”

“Yeah, sure! Here, type in your number.”

Minutes later and David’s phone has both Stiles and Derek’s numbers, and as he loaded his groceries into his car, he couldn’t get the image of Stiles and Derek arguing about double dead meat and supernatural guide books in the frozen meats section out of his head, and he’s already excited for the prospect of helping Stiles and Lydia author a book about the supernatural.

For being the town’s book of secrets, David doesn’t have it that bad at all.

 

* * *

 

_He watches himself smirk in amusement at the scene before him, this macabre display he himself was not present at._

_He watches Kira and Allison slash and throw endless volleys of arrows against the_ oni _, as Isaac falls to the ground as more and more of the_ oni _surround and slash at him._

_He wants to scream, to shout, to yell – but he finds himself voiceless and helpless, a mere spectator to the series of events he already knows the outcome to._

_He watched as Allison nocks her last arrow – this arrow he knows she herself made out of pure silver, the mark of true Argent marksman – and lets it loose, destroying the_ oni _that was going to deal the fatal blow to Isaac._

 _He watched as one of the_ oni _materialized behind her, and slowly, as if time suddenly hit a slow-down button, the oni’s sword inched towards the unguarded huntress, her defenses absent from her last shot._

_He watched himself – the Nogitsune, this monster wearing his face – slowly turn in his direction, unaffected by the slowed time, and smile maliciously at him._

_“Remember this as I do, Stiles, for you and I were still connected,” he heard himself say, the monster using his voice in a cold detached tone, heavy with horrid glee._

_Before the_ oni _’s swords reached her, Allison turned his way, as if she was looking straight at him, and her eyes turn fearful and terrified, and she opened her mouth in a desperate plea._

_“Stiles. Please.”_

_He hears the Nogitsune laugh using his voice, a cold cackle in the air as the sword comes inches closer to her._

_“No! No! Don’t do this! No! Please, not her! Not her!”_

_“Stiles. Please.”_

_“Watch closely, Stiles.”_

_“NO! ALLISON, NO! PLEASE DON’T! NOT HER! PLEASE NOT HER!”_

_He watches as the_ oni _’s face warps into a familiar face, a face he has struggled to forget, and before he knows it, it’s Donovan holding the sword, and he’s inches away from Allison._

_He watches as time flowed faster, the sword running through Allison’s stomach, and the Nogitsune – his face – smiling in malicious victory, disappear from his sight._

_“ALLISON NO! ALLISON NO!”_

_“Stiles.”_

_“Allison I’m sorry I’m so sorry, I’m sorry!”_

_“Stiles.”_

_“Please Allison, I’m sorry, please, I’m sorry!”_

_“Stiles!”_

_“No, I’m sorry…Please…”_

_“STILES!”_

Stiles struggled against the arms that held him, and it takes him a moment to realize he is crying and sobbing and yelling in the darkness, and his voice is hoarse and he feels terrible, and still hears the whispers of Allison’s voice in his ears, a soft yet painful reminder of the many people he has lost.

"Oh God, please...I'm sorry, please not her, not her, please..."

“Stiles, sssh, it’s okay, you’re safe, you’re safe, I’m here…”

He can’t breathe. He can’t take it. He should have done something. She shouldn’t have died like that.

“Breathe, Stiles, breathe.”

He can’t find himself to stop, and he is still sobbing and crying with a broken voice when a warm hand finds the spot on his chest where his heart is, and he begins taking stable breaths, each second passing agonizingly slow.

He felt himself growing limp in the arms of the person holding him, and he felt himself overcome with grief once more, reliving a nightmare he thought he was over already. He wants to cry, because having that dream feels like losing Allison all over again, and compounded by the misgivings he’s had – the Nogitsune, Donovan, his total loss of control over his life back then – he wants nothing more but to curl up and disappear somewhere, winking out of existence.

But disappearing like that, he can’t do that either. Not again.

The arms around him never let him go, pulling him to a solid chest that offered warmth and assurance, one hand around him and the other tracing slow circles on his chest, over where his heart is.

“…Will I ever stop having nightmares?” he heard himself ask.

“I hope so,” he felt rather than heard his companion’s voice reply, his chest rumbling by Stiles’s ear.

“Do you still have them? Nightmares?” Stiles asked.

“I do.”

“What do you dream of?”

“The fire. The pack, all of you, dying one by one.”

“I hope you’d stop having them. Your nightmares.”

“I hope so, too.”

 

* * *

 

Stiles wears Allison’s bracelet that day. He doesn’t take it off for days.

 

* * *

 

“Hey Stiles?”

“Hmm?”

“You know I love you right?”

“Yes…? Yeah, of course, I love you bro, what is it?”

“And I know you love Lydia.”

“Yes. Yes I do. I love you both. Though you not so much in the same sense as I do Lydia because that would be weird and –”

“And you know I wouldn’t judge you for what you are, right?”

“Oh…kay. I’m not sure where this conversation is headed, but yeah. No judgment between us. Well, minimal judgment on you for my part because let’s admit it, you still have the dumbest ideas from time to time.”

“Stiles!”

“Okay! I know, okay! No judgeyness. Why are you suddenly trying to reenact a scene from a Hallmark movie here with me anyways?”

“…”

“…Am I supposed to tell you something?”

“I know that just because all you’ve ever been with is girls, that doesn’t mean you’re not interested in… other options.”

“Other options?”

“You like girls right?”

“Yes. Yes I do. Very much.”

“And you…like…guys, right?”

“Uh…I guess? Like, I like a fair share of guys that are…good? Contributing to society?”

“Stiles.”

“…Oh my god, is this the part I come out of the metaphorical _closet_?”

“Umm.”

“Scott. Okay. _Clearly_ I never had this conversation with you, and I am regretting every minute of this now that I didn’t before, so let me just say this: yes Scott. Yes.”

“You like girls and…guys…right?”

“ _Yes, Scott_ , it’s bisexuality. It’s a thing – a thing I am. I’m sorry if you felt like I didn’t trust with this – it’s not really a secret, at least not to me – but it’s just… I really don’t know how my orientation could have come up in _any_ conversation in the last few years. It’s not like I could just go out and say _“Hey guys! I’m back from getting almost killed. Again. Or wiped from existence. Completely. By the way, I like dick as much as I like vagina. Thanks for saving me guys!”_ now could I?”

_“Stiles!”_

“See? That would just be ridiculous. And it doesn’t matter. I’m with Lydia, man.”

“But it hasn’t always been Lydia.”

“Well. There was Malia. And I did make out with Caitlyn once, back at that rave we threw at the loft.”

“And?”

“And? What and? There is no ‘and’. That’s it.”

“Just because you’ve only ever been with girls in that way, doesn’t mean you haven’t felt that way towards any guy.”

“Danny is fairly attractive. And he’s nice.”

“And Jackson?”

“He’s objectively attractive. He was an asshole though. Though we are friends these days which is a little strange and yet not at the same time. Huh. Hooray for personal development.”

“Asshole is your type.”

“What do you mean?”

“It took me a while, especially since I was so new to the whole werewolf thing in the beginning, but I kind of realized it, now that….now that everything’s settled.”

“Realized what?”

“…You know. You. And.”

“…”

“Stiles?”

“…When did you…realize?”

“A few months back, I guess. I just entered your living room and the two of you were there and I thought ‘ _this kind of seems familiar_ ’ and the way you guys acted was different from before, but the smell was…it was different, but kind of the same as well. Like there was this electricity between you two, like it was the smell of possibility. Like, you know, _maybe.”_

“Yeah well, we’re friends. Pack, yeah? It’s normal. I can deal. Not that it’s something I need to deal with because it’s a problem, because no, it’s not, me and Lydia are happy and everything, just, you know, he’s just around. A lot. And we hang out. And talk. Okay? We got close. It’s a whole thing. Not that we’re a _thing_ , I just meant –”

“Stiles?”

“What?”

“You’re allowed to love more than one person. Like the way you love your dad, and me, and my mom, and Lydia, and the pack.”

“…I know.”

“…”

“…”

“…”

“…Hey Scott?”

“Yeah?”

“I think I kind of always liked him. Since I was sixteen.”

Scott smiled at Stiles as he threw his arms around his brother.

“I got your back Stiles. I’ll always be here for you.”

“Thanks Scott. Love you man.”

“Love you too, Stiles.”

 

* * *

 

"Isaac?"

"Yes, Saoirse?"

"Is Stiles with Derek like he is with Lydia?"

Isaac looked at the selkie with surprise. Malia turned her head and gave Saoirse a look.

"No. Stiles loves Lydia too much to do something like cheat on her."

"How do you know? Can you smell it on him?"

"No," Malia replied, turning away, "I just know that Stiles is loyal to those he loves."

"Why do you ask anyway?" Isaac voiced.

"They both have that soft look in their eyes when they look at each other when they think nobody is looking," the fifteen-year-old replied.

"What soft look?"

"It's just this look that... like they're not just looking at each other. It's like...there's...there's more to it...is there more? More to them?"

Isaac glanced at Malia, who was studiously ignoring them by writing her college paper on the kitchen table facing away from them. Her hand is poised above the paper, pen gripped lightly, but she isn't moving. Isaac doesn't need to see her face to know the sad expression she must be wearing.

Isaac knew of Malia and Stiles - that they got well acquainted in Eichen, and that they got together after the incident with the Nogitsune. And he knows that Stiles was Malia's anchor at some point, and then they were in love.

And then they weren't.

"They're friends that help each other out. They're pack," Malia replied quietly, "of course they're more. We're all more."

Despite being with Scott, Isaac knew Malia still felt hurt about Stiles and how they ended. It was something they both realized - that Malia only imprinted on Stiles because he was the only one patient enough to teach her to be a high school girl, and that Stiles only liked Malia back because he liked being needed by her.

But Isaac has known Stiles from before the time he considers everything fell apart in Beacon Hills. Back then, he's struggled with his abusive father before Derek gave him the Bite. Scott and Allison were together, the werewolf and werewolf hunter star-crossed lovers. Isaac had a pack, and though Derek was his Alpha then, he felt more comfortable around Erica and Boyd. And in some way, Lydia and Jackson had each other. And then Scott and Allison weren't together anymore and Jackson moved away; Isaac had Scott, Allison had Lydia, and Erica and Boyd died.

Scott always had Stiles, and Derek was always at the edge of their crummy pack, but ultimately, they had no one in the pack they solidly fit with.

No one but each other.

There's a history there: those long nights that they needed research on the supernatural, stake outs chasing the rogue Alpha, late nights going after the kanima, holding each other up in the pool for more than two hours, rushing back inside invaded hospitals and broken elevators to save the other, keeping each other safe.

You don't forget about the guy you constantly lied to your father about. You don't just move on from the guy you willingly placed yourself in danger just to keep them safe, or to make sure they were alright. You don't just get over someone you started out as reluctant allies before becoming actual friends that saved each other's asses all the time.

Stiles and Derek had a whole history that began even before Lydia started really looking at Stiles. At some point in their tragic werewolf-infested high school story, the two of them were all each other had. There wasn't just trust and damning circumstances that pulled them together all the time.

There was _more_.

That was a history about their pack that very few people knew. It was a history that Malia didn't know - a history that Malia _will never_ know or fully understand. Isaac knows that Stiles will always love Lydia despite the many people that come in his life, but Derek was always different.

He always was.

"They were always more," Isaac simply said. Saoirse nodded.

 

* * *

 

 

"How many miles are we going for today?"

"Seven."

"You're actually actively trying to kill me, aren't you?"

"I'll carry you back when your legs give out. It'll only be like carrying a sack of potatoes over my shoulder."

" _Dude._ "

"Don't call me dude."

 

* * *

 

Stiles found the box with the locket and ring in Derek’s loft three days before he left for Quantico.

He had given his jeep to Scott and his bat to Mason a few days before, and now that he’s back from literal non-existence, he intends to stay existing and leaving behind as many articles of his existence scattered across Beacon Hills with different people.

He had gone out with Lydia to lunch a few hours prior, before they had to part ways since Lydia told him she needed to prepare her things for MIT, and since Stiles was done packing his things since he was leaving for college the earliest among them, he decided he’d explore Beacon Hills before he left, for what he surmised would be the last before a long time away.

He didn’t even realize he was heading over to the old loft until he realized he was turning his bike in roads he remembered he hadn’t taken in so long, and before he could talk himself out of it, he was already bounding up the stairs, foregoing the abandoned elevator, and ushering himself into Derek’s unlocked former living space.

The place looked abandoned and stripped, the smattering of furniture and house wares that weren’t destroyed during the Nogitsune incident and Kate’s return standing still and collecting dust. Stiles walked around the general area, taking in the huge window letting the afternoon light in. The table by the window still contained papers faded with plans, jars of dust – mountain ash and wolfsbane, Stiles found out – and a silver dagger with an ornate handle, for a purpose Stiles didn’t know.

He bypassed the table and climbed the spiral staircase, instantly spotting the old bed collecting dust in the loft's abandon, a closet by the corner with its door slightly open revealing clothes that belonged to people who had outlived their lives in Beacon Hills.

Stiles found himself walking towards the closet, opening the door gingerly as if he was afraid it would break, and took a few solid seconds of staring at its contents.

The first thing Stiles grabbed from the dusty clothes on the rack was a familiar black jacket. It was dirty from moisture and dust, the leather cracked in several places, its cuffs a little frayed and slashed from all the fighting and generally being thrown around during those first few years he's seen it being worn.

Stiles knew Derek got a new leather jacket, one that he wears these days like a second armor, but he couldn't help but feel a familiar sense of security in seeing Derek's old beaten leather jacket. He's seen it on Derek more than he could count during those first months they've known each other - in the preserve, at the station, in his room, at school, in the Camaro - and it feels strange holding it in his hands now than seeing it on Derek.

He lets his hands wander on the old thing, feeling dirt and creases on it, looking for a familiar feeling he used to get every time he saw a leather-clad werewolf back then, when Stiles heard an odd metallic _clink_ as he turned the jacket over.

Stiles pawed through the jacket's inside pockets, and fished out a small brown box, solid and dry, protected by the jacket against time, and Stiles found himself taking a seat on the bed, sending a thick cloud of dust up in the air.

After coughing out the dust he unintentionally disturbed, Stiles took another look at the box, before carefully inching it open.

Inside it were two objects: a gold locket, and a single silver band ring.

Stiles knew immediately who they belonged to. He remembered Erica wearing a gold locket that hung loosely close to her cleavage when she got turned, and Stiles distinctly remembers Derek taking Boyd's ring from his finger after - _after_ \- and it surprised Stiles that Derek kept them but didn't take it with him when he left.

Or, Stiles supposed, Derek meant to leave behind the only remainder of his fallen pack with his old leather jacket, like he cut away a piece of himself and left it here in Beacon, before ultimately leaving them in Mexico.

Three days later, Stiles left for Washington, taking a gold locket and silver ring with him, and at one point during his first week in university, right after he saw Derek's running figure on a class footage at school, he digs out an old leather jacket from the bottom of his carry-on bag, hoping maybe he'd see a familiar blue-eyed werewolf again.

 

* * *

 

"This is a horrible idea."

"You're being dramatic."

Theo crossed his arms and stared at Liam, who threw him an irritated look over his shoulder as he packed a travel bag.

Theo's travel bag to be precise.

"I'd like to remind you that Stiles is practically FBI now, and if he decided to kill me, he wouldn't be arrested."

"You and I both know that Stiles doesn't want to kill you now," Liam replied, tone a little snappy.

"At least not as much as before," Theo said drily, "and my point stands."

"Henry Theobalt Raeken, I swear to god I would drag you to Washington crying and screaming if I have to if you don't start packing!"

Theo scowled at Liam. "How the hell do you even know my full name?"Theo knows he changed his public records to simply Theo Raeken when the Dread Doctors let him go. The name Henry sounded too normal - part of a life he left behind - and Theobalt was just plain cringe-worthy.

"Stiles. He dug up your old records from when you were, um, weren't a chimera yet."

Theo sighed, kneeling on the floor with Liam. "It's not like I have much in the way of packing."

He saw Liam turn away a bit, hearing his heart beat stutter for a second, before he spoke. "We're almost the same size."

"Are you packing your clothes for me?"

"Scott said we don't know how long we'd be staying with the Washington Pack to settle treaties. Stiles and Derek were working on diplomacy, but Scott said it’d probably be a few days. We might as well prepare extra clothes."

"...Thanks."

"S'ok. We're good, right?" Liam asked, a hint of hesitancy in this voice. Theo thinks he and Liam are more than just good - Liam was, after all, the very first person to ever trust him in his life, even if it was under pressuring circumstances with the Löwenmench. They were a reluctant duo at first, but by the end with the war with Monroe, being around each other and saving each other was almost normal.

In all honesty? Theo liked who he was becoming around Liam. He almost feels human again - normal in a way he hadn't been in a long time.

He wasn't going to say that to Liam though.

"We're good, Liam."

 

* * *

 

 

"How was the trip?"

"It was great, especially in first class. I kind of get why you keep taking Peter's offer to pay for you and Lydia's tickets when you go back to California."

"I don’t know what generous and magnanimous spirit has possessed Peter these days, but I’m not complaining. He said the Hale money should at least be benefited by someone other than himself."

Stiles let them in the apartment, with Stiles giving Scott and Liam tight hugs and Alec a fond hair ruffling. Theo got a pleasant nod from Stiles, which was a courtesy he hadn’t expected but was pleased to get.

Theo took in the inside of the apartment. It smelled of coffee and stress, trees and woods and the stray scent of perfume. The apartment itself was a nice place - though admittedly quite big for someone living alone. A brief sniff at the place told Theo that no, Stiles wasn't alone in the apartment, and that the multitude of scents were from the various people who frequented the place. Theo was aware that the Stilinski apartment was one of the McCall pack’s main meeting places, and being in the place where the pack gathered when he wasn’t part of them sunk the feeling Theo had in him – the feeling that he was adrift and truly unattached to their world.

He, Liam, Scott, and Alec arrived a few minutes ago, getting a rental car from the airport and driving to Stiles's place. So far, they were the first ones from the pack to arrive.

"Is that how you got the apartment?" Scott asked him.

"Me and Peter bonded over Malia and our mutual time of nonexistence from the plane of reality. He thought I deserved something nice," Stiles shrugged, like that entire sentence didn't sound insane at all. It was kind of hard to tell if Stiles was telling the truth or being sarcastic - Theo settled on Stiles being crazy.

"You actually let Peter spend on you?" Liam asked, incredulous.

"On top of the mounting debt I would undoubtedly continue to acquire as I continue college? Liam, I would beg Peter to spend on me. In fact, I would encourage all the rich people around me to spend on me. Please."

"Is Peter paying for your school now?" Scott asked, sounding scandalized.

"No. But he did insist I accept the apartment. Plus, Derek and Cora crash in the extra rooms here, so it's not like I have monopoly of using something that was bought with money from the Hales. And we did get that bag of money from the dead pool a few years ago, right? I still have some saved up."

"I suddenly got the feeling you guys are a lot more loaded than I realized," Alec spoke.

Scott laughed, "Man, I don't know how much I still have left from the dead pool money. Paying for the house in Beacon Hills was pretty expensive."

"It's not like you're not getting benefits," Stiles raised an eyebrow at Alec, "you get to ride first class every time you visit."

By the time evening came, Lydia, Derek, Cora, and Aspen had started on dinner as Mason and Corey arrived. Peter arrived at the same time as Ethan, Jackson, Isaac, Malia, Saoirse, and Jason. By past 9, everybody had migrated into the living room, catching up on each other over the last few months since they last saw each other. Being a new fixture in the pack and having been to America for the first time, the pack's attention was mostly aimed at Jason Callahan and Saoirse Beaufort, druid descendant and selkie respectively, and asking them how they met the people they were staying within Scott's pack.

At some point during the night, Theo found himself standing outside by the veranda, listening to the pack interact with each other. It was nice - the only members of the pack that don't usually mind him these days are Liam, Mason, Corey, and Alec, and Scott seemed to have warmed to him in the past few months.

Looking back from when he was under the Doctors, he never would've thought he'd find himself where he was now - having sort-of friends and a pack that tolerates his presence.

"Lurking in the darkness looking like you're plotting your next evil take over is not a good look on you Theo," the chimera turned to look behind him, unsurprised to see Stiles leaning by the doorway, "you just look pathetic."

"I have it on good authority I can rock the whole secretly-homicidal look," Theo replied.

"Unless you got lessons from Kate Argent or Peter Hale circa 2012, I might believe that," Stiles raised an eyebrow, "although Kate looks more batshit crazy I-will-burn-your-house-down and Peter looked more I-will-fuck-up-everyone-you-know sociopath."

"I'm _right here_ Stiles!" Theo heard Peter yell from the living room.

"Admittedly he looks better these days - not even a tinge homicidal! - but you know. Point stands."

Theo sighed. “Look, I get it: you don’t trust me. And I understand if you want me to leave right now. You could’ve just told Scott not to get me the plane ticket here and saved ourselves the trouble.”

Stiles gave him a strange look, before his face pulled a sort of surprised look. “You’re saying you’re here because Scott got you plane tickets.”

“Yes. First class, if you can recall the conversation earlier. I couldn’t exactly refuse an Alpha’s gift without good reason.”

“You’re here because you think _Scott_ got you first class tickets?”

“Yes,” Theo huffed, sounding a little defensive.

“Okay, first of all, I commend you for coming up with the idea of Scott bringing you here without informing us, because that is exactly the sort of dumb thing Scott would totally do –”

“Hey!” Scott protested from the living room.

“– and second, and pardon me if this sound absolutely condescending – no disrespect to you Scott! – I am surprised you think that Scott, a mere college student, can afford _four_ _first class_ tickets.”

Theo stared at him. “Then where did the tickets come from?”

Stiles snorted. “Hale money. I sent it over.”

“You,” Theo enunciated slowly, “sent the tickets.”

“Yes, Theo, pay attention,” Stiles rolled his eyes, “now I know you’re surprised you’re still in one piece considering the first time you came back from the dead – hah! Another thing you have in common with Peter – I wanted to put you under again, Lydia wanted you dead, and Malia wanted to claw your face off. But living with a fifteen year old has softened Malia’s temper, and Lydia’s all about second chances and whatnot. And me? I’m sort of trying to become a better person who holds grudges for lesser time now and is trying to trust former villains. So this is me, extending the proverbial olive branch. Now you either take said branch or I use it to beat you on the head with. Which do you choose?”

“Are you…are you making amends?”

“God Theo, you’re really trying to drag it out of me are you? Yes, this is me, making amends and asking in behalf of everyone of us who wants to try trusting you, do you want to be pack?”

“Yes. Yes! Yeah, I do.”

Not a second later, Scott appears beside Stiles, his eyes glowing red. Theo flashes his eyes blue, baring his neck to Scott in submission, and all of a sudden, the feeling of being unencumbered settles to a feeling of solidity, of _belonging_ , and Theo can’t help the bright grin breaking into his face.

“Now you’re really pack,” Scott said, sounding happy.

“Thank you Scott, Stiles,” Theo said. Stiles rolled his eyes at him, body no longer lined with tension and replaced with casual ease.

“Don’t thank me. Thank Liam. He kept sending me these pitiful looks every time we met and he kept sending me texts about you and the pack, thinking he was being subtle when he’s not.”

“Liam trusts you, and you trust him, and I think it’s good. You two keep each other safe, and I think you two are good together,” Scott added, looking at Stiles. The other man looked away, his heart stuttering for a beat.

Theo could believe it – Liam _would_ push for a place for Theo in the pack.

“I –”

“And I agree, but here’s the thing: you betray Liam, and I won’t hesitate to hound your ass and kill you dead, deader than the first time. You hear me? I got multiple guns filled with wolfsbane and aconite and I’m not afraid to use them. You don’t mess with our son like that.”

“I won’t betray him. I promise.”

A beat later and Theo quirks an eyebrow at them. “Did you just give me shovel talk? About _your son_?”

“Me and Scott are basically Liam’s secondary parents. I even have the paperwork for it! Being that Scott made Liam – well, made Liam into a werewolf – and taking into account his gentle nature, that would determine Scott as the mother figure and me being the father figure who works away from home and is visited by my family a few times a year in my place of work.”

“That’s not true,” Scott intervenes, “everyone knows you’re the pack’s helicopter mother. You’re exactly the type of mom who has crackers and wet wipes in your bag for your kids, only instead of kids you have a pack of supernatural beings, and instead of crackers and wet wipes, you have wolfsbane and mountain ash.”

“Fuck, you’re right. That makes us both the moms. Who’s the dad then? Would that be Peter since he’s the one handing us money to spend on the pack? Is Peter the dad in this metaphor merely by his role of monetary support from time to time? Oh my god Scott, do we have to start calling _Peter_ dad now?”

“Now, now, Stiles, I appreciate the sentiment, but I think I’m not the Hale you want to call ‘daddy’,” Theo heard Peter mutter, and from the living room he hears Cora and Jackson cackle loudly. Scott chuckles, having heard Peter’s comment with his enhanced hearing as well, but Stiles didn’t hear anything. He does pick up the pointed laughter from the living room though, and narrowed his eyes in suspicion that he was made fun of.

“What? Who said something? What was it?”

“It’s nothing,” Scott replied, “they said we should head back inside. We could start choosing a movie to watch.”

The three of them headed back inside, and Theo sees Stiles head for the kitchen, where Derek and Lydia are making popcorn. Stiles goes to the drawers and takes out bowls.

Theo soon finds his eyes drawn to Liam, who was already looking at him, ears a little red and face a little flushed, sporting a huge smile and his eyes shining bright. He couldn’t help but rush towards Liam to sit beside him, and only a beat later, he turns to hug him. Liam hugs him back.

“Thanks Liam.”

“S’ok. We’re good right?”

And this time, Theo didn’t hesitate to be honest. He lifted his hands and cupped Liam’s face, tilted his head and kissed him, feeling the fullness of Liam’s soft lips on his. It’s only a second later before he felt Liam’s hands go to his waist, kissing him back.

Theo could hear the girls present in the room squeal in excitement, and Scott was chuckling, sounding fond. In the background, he heard Stiles protest “ _Theo, Liam, there are children present!”_

“It’s okay Stiles,” the young selkie, Saoirse, assured him, “they’re cute. And I’ve seen worse. You do know Jackson and Ethan right? I had to watch them snog each other on the way here when they think they were being sneaky.”

“Hey!”

“I resent that accusation!”

Theo broke the kiss and tuned out the rest of the pack engaging in their shenanigans, resting his forehead against Liam’s. He looks at Liam giving him a fond smile, and he thinks, yes, this is where he wants to belong.

“We’re more than good,” Theo answered, and Liam’s answering smile is blinding.

 

* * *

 

“Hey. Stiles. Wake up.”

“Nnnnnoooo…”

“Come on, Stiles. Get up. Time for your morning run.”

“Can’t we… do that later…?”

Amused chuckling followed.

“It wouldn’t be a morning run then.”

“Aww.”

“Get up Stiles. We have 7 miles this morning. You don’t want to fall behind on your physical tests, don’t you?”

“Nooooooo…”

“I’ll wait for you by the door.”

Stiles heard his bedroom door click softly shut, allowing himself a few more seconds of rest before slowly rising from his bed. He shuffled around his room, changing into sweatpants and a hoodie, before making his way to the bathroom to brush his teeth and wash his face.

Five minutes later, he walks outside the door, Derek Hale giving a soft look, and the two of them are off.

 

* * *

 

Scott and Malia lasted being together for five months into college before calling it a break.

It was a mutual decision, and there were a lot of factors that moved them along towards that decision: the distance, communication, the feeling of being close to someone in the height of danger – it was a whole thing.

A thing that Derek helped, because, according to Stiles, Derek was the expert on unhealthy relationships. He’d also joke that Derek had a PhD on it – _Doctor Hale – and Stiles, did you have a fantasy of Derek being a doctor and poking you with his stethoscope and oh my god Scott shut up shut up!_

Derek told him that Scott needed the distance, that it might be good for him and Malia. Malia was finally learning to find herself in the world, now more human than coyote, and they were both in college, and Scott was assuming a very huge role in the supernatural community as a well-known Alpha, and that they deserved to find their place in the world without having to feel like they’re holding each other back.

He also told Scott about prior commitments, and the Alpha understands.

He’s still kept it close to him after all.

Kira’s tail.

A part of Scott had pushed Kira out of his mind in the events that followed her leaving for the Skinwalkers. They did break up, another mutual decision, but they did promise that if Kira came back and finished her training, and that if Scott still felt trying to be together again, and if Kira actually returned to them in the same _century_ , then maybe...

Maybe.

And Kira entrusted her tail to Scott, a lifetime's promise, and Scott told her and himself he could wait.

Then, well, Malia happened. It was unexpected.

Scott found himself one night wanting to call Stiles about feelings, what it felt like to be both invested in two people romantically at the same time, but he realized it would be putting Stiles on the spot too much.

So instead, he called Lydia and talked to her.

"Oh Scott, I really don't want to be the bitch that tells you this, but maybe you're just not the relationship type? Or at least not yet."

"What?" Scott sputtered. "What do you mean by that?"

"Scott, you have a little bit of a shitty luck with love. Not as bad as Derek's, thank god, but maybe it's better to focus on yourself more."

"Lydia, I am literally pushing myself with all this Alpha business. I am meeting with four different Alphas or Coven Heads or whatever leader of a supernatural group there is _in a single week_ , and I have classes to go to!"

"Exactly. Romance would only be a distraction."

"Not with you and Stiles."

"No, but we're different. Me and Stiles are about only a few hours apart, and are working on finishing our own degrees. We have constant communication, and we have other company to help us academically and socially.

"You on the other hand, have Kira, who you don't know _when_ she'll be back, and Malia, who you got together with in the heat if the moment, and is now in another continent finding herself. Trust me, that is a huge distraction."

"Well, when you put it like that..."

"Scott, there is nothing wrong with loving two people. You took it slow with Kira and actually got to know each other, but you don't know when she'll be back. And you and Malia took it too fast, and I know you two do have feelings for each other, but Scott, even you admitted the distance took its toll on you two."

"Yeah..."

"Derek had a solid point. You need distance. And now, this is my point: live your life. We are a pack of supernaturals that can't anticipate when the next danger rears its head on us. Live life - go out with Liam and Alec, hell, even Theo when he comes along. Go to your college study groups. Just live, Scott."

"Thanks Lydia. I'm a work in progress, but I'm getting there. I suppose I just got used to having someone beside me in that way."

Scott heard Lydia sigh from the other line. He let out a low chuckle.

"You sound a bit like your mom giving a session."

"Well she is the guidance counselor at the high school. And I am an absolute fount of knowledge, McCall, I'll have you know."

Scott laughed.

"God, you two really are like two peas in a pod."

"...Us two?"

"You and Stiles."

"I doubt my conflicted love life comes close to yours and Stiles's."

"You'd be surprised," Lydia replied, tone a bit teasing.

"Would I?" Scott asked, sounding amused.

"I know you know, Scott. And I'm not stupid. It's pretty obvious, now that they're practically living together."

Scott was speechless at Lydia's revelation. Is she...?

"How did you...?"

"It's always been there," Lydia replied, voice soft, "just because it didn't lead to anything more doesn't mean there wasn't anything."

"And you're okay with it?"

Scott heard Lydia laugh from the other line. "I wasn't at first, to be honest. But Stiles...he's always been like that, always ready to love those other people aren't ready to love. I wasn't always nice, if you could remember, and it took years for me to become a real person than the image I wanted to project. _He_ was the same."

"Lydia..."

"I love him, Scott. And he loves me. And despite kanimas and druids and dead pools and evil fox spirits and insane asylums, he comes back to me. Every time. So as long as I love him and he loves me and we treat each other the way we deserve to be treated, that's all that matters to me. The rest are just details."

And Scott - Scott is floored at Lydia. All at once he sees how far from the vapid popular girl Lydia had come from, to being the fierce and strong woman she is becoming. Scott wants to be strong like that too.

"Hey Lydia?"

"Hmm?"

"Thanks. You're awesome."

"I know, McCall. I know."

 

* * *

 

Aspen was the fucking poster child of a perfect cop.

He's tall, handsome, physically fit, and polite - he's basically well-known at the academy for getting top marks in his classes, and is even slightly favored by his instructors and peers. He even has the tragic backstory for wanting to be a cop - family murdered when he was sixteen, been in the care of estranged and uninvolved relatives, and entered the academy to help protect the people from suffering the same kind of tragedy he faced.

People liked him, and he liked people back - he was sociable and friendly and shit - but to be perfectly honest, Aspen kind of hated the world in general.

Maintaining the facade of the most promising enforcer of the law was much protection as it was guilt-driven penance - he wanted to be able to protect himself, and put himself through the ringer as much as he could.

Because Aspen had a secret: he was a shapeshifter.

At most, Aspen could shift into a cat or change his face into other people's, adapting different mannerisms and ticks that could make him seem like a completely different person, and he has accelerated healing that helped him heal from wounds he got from his job.

After his entire family was taken down by hunters and narrowly escaping them, he had been careful of his movements. His uncle - his mother's brother - took him in, but Aspen couldn't integrate himself with his uncle's family, especially because they didn't know he was a supernatural being.

It didn't help that they were extremely conservative and religious.

So by the age of eighteen and graduating high school, he moved out and into police academy, not opting for the military since he was worried he might get caught by hunters in the army, and he had been on his own since then.

That was Aspen Richmond's life: constantly acting perfect and being on high alert for the latest threat, always one foot ready to bolt out the door the moment his secret is compromised. Sometimes, he even managed to convince himself that he was just a normal human being living the ideal life of a cop-to-be, but every morning he woke up and looked at himself in the mirror, and he is reminded of all the things he's lost and stand to lose.

But he's fine. He'll be fine. He has to be.

And he was doing so fine too, until he fucked up on an assignment on his third year in the academy.

He got assigned to local station at Quantico, Virginia, when a call came in: every police force at a 10 mile radius was to report for active duty, including police interns. Apparently, a high profile criminal under the FBI's watch had managed to escape during a transfer, the transport vehicle was bombed and the criminal was nowhere to be seen.

It was just Aspen's luck that in perusing a quaint neighborhood - _alone for chrissakes what was he thinking?_ \- when he got shot on the shoulder that sent him reeling from pain on the ground. He felt himself unable to heal, and he clutched at his shoulder pathetically when his shooter stepped out from the shadows.

"You fucking freaks in the police now huh? That'll teach you, _bitch_."

Aspen's heart almost stopped. _What?_

"I'm afraid that won't heal; getting wolfsbane bullet's a pain in the ass, but it's fucking worth it getting rid of freaks of nature like you."

Now Aspen was sure he was screwed - how had he been compromised? He'd been so careful of shifting, only doing it when he was sure he was alone and wouldn't get caught, but now, he had, somehow, not been careful enough.

Shit, he was going to die, wasn't he?

Aspen heard the click of the gun and saw the hunter level his gun at him. Aspen could have done a lot of things at that point - go for his gun, shift and escape, or catch the hunter off-guard and attack him - but in the face of being unexpectedly shot and being compromised, he could do nothing but stay paralyzed.

"Any last words freak?"

"How about drop your weapons and freeze?"

Aspen turned around and saw two guys approaching them, one in a S.W.A.T. vest and the other a tall guy in a leather jacket. The criminal changed the angle of his gun and fired at the newcomers, but the shot went wide and the guy in the leather jacket was too fast - the bullet missed him by a wide margin, not even coming close to the guy in the S.W.A.T. vest, and tackled the shooter to the ground, twisting his arm as he dropped the gun. Aspen heard the sharp crack of a bone and the shooter's cry of pain, and he could only watch in wonder as the guy in the leather jacket craned to look in his general direction and saw he didn't have a human face.

Well, it was still humanoid in appearance, but it was a ferocious sight - wide forehead and deformed nose, fangs protruding from his mouth, his hair coming down the sides of his face in exaggerated sideburns. But the most amazing thing were his eyes - they were a haunting glow of blue.

"Man, I don't even know why I bother with protocol with these assholes, they never freeze and drop their weapons anyways."

Aspen turned his gaze to the man in the in the S.W.A.T. vest. Upon closer inspection, he was younger than he thought - the guy was close to his age - brown eyes, tousled hair, and moles littering his skin, and he looked like he belonged on some teenage girl's magazine than in a crime scene.

"What're we going to do with him?" the guy in leather asked

"I'll call Agent Ralph. He'll deal with it for us." The S.W.A.T. vest guy tossed the guy in the leather a pair of handcuffs. "There. Cuff him."

When Aspen turned his gaze back to the guy in leather, his face was back to that of a normal human face. And damn, that is _not_ a normal human face.

He was ruggedly handsome, dark hair and stubble, with high cheekbones and sharp jaw lines. With his broad shoulders and leather jacket, he made the shooter he was currently cuffing look like a prepubescent child.

"Hey, Aspen Richmond right? That's your name?"

Aspen looked at the guy in the S.W.A.T. vest once more. He had lowered himself on one knee, his eyes level with him as he sat on the ground from the throbbing pain in his shoulder. The guy had a crooked smile and his brown eyes twinkled with a strange mix of seriousness and amusement. He looked like trouble, and Aspen wasn't sure if the guy was taking him away from trouble, or toward it.

"Yeah," he found himself answering.

"Awesome! I'm Stiles, and sourwolf over there is Derek. C'mon, let's get you out of here and treat that wound, alright?"

And from that, Aspen found himself swept up in the whirlwind pace of Stiles Stilinski and his friends, who were supernatural creatures like himself.

That night, Stiles introduced him to Derek Hale, and later on to Derek’s sister, Cora. The siblings introduced themselves as werewolves, with Stiles saying that Derek was special, since he was an evolved wolf capable of a full-wolf shift. The following day, Aspen found himself before the scrutinizing eyes of Lydia Martin, a banshee, and Peter Hale, another werewolf, who both made the trip to Virginia to see the shapeshifter Stiles rescued the night before.

“By the distinct base scent he carries, he’s merely a common shifter. He doesn’t possess the enhanced senses that werewolves do, but they heal just as nicely,” Peter appraised him.

“Is that his real face? He’s certainly good-looking. You’ve always had a penchant for attaching yourself to attractive people,” Lydia raised an eyebrow at him, her remark aimed at Stiles.

“Well, I _am_ very much attached to you, so,” Stiles shrugged.

Aspen didn’t miss Lydia’s eyes glance briefly to Stiles’s side, where Derek stood with his arms crossed, looking relaxed and loose, and he couldn’t help but think _“Guess you’re not the only one he’s attached to”._

From that point, Aspen found himself falling into an easy friendship with Stiles, who was also an undergrad like him at the FBI program in Washington University, which was only a few blocks away from where he lived. Stiles introduced him to Scott over Skype one time, who was the Alpha of their pack, and after talking to Stiles and Scott, Aspen began his deeper education into the supernatural with the help of Stiles and Derek.

After years of being on his own without anyone to be truly honest with, Aspen found himself like he was finally breathing easily again.

 

* * *

 

Danny Mahealani moved out of Beacon Hills two weeks after Ethan left.

He had moved across the country to Massachusetts to finish his senior year, away from the strange events that had been his world in Beacon Hills. Danny was smart, and he knew it, so it wasn’t really a surprise that he got an acceptance letter to MIT before he graduated.

So there he went, entering the world of college at MIT, meeting and going out with new people, and learning new things that challenged and interested him. Danny knew he was a lucky guy, he did the things he wanted to do at good school surrounded by great people, and he was living the blissful college life people saw in movies.

But he couldn’t help but sometimes feel he was missing out on something since leaving Beacon Hills. It was a little sudden, he’d admit, only telling a few handful of people at that club Jungle and the school admin. He felt like he could be living a little more, but faced with college paper work and part-time jobs and going out with people, he could push those thoughts away until he took them out during pensive moments at 3 a.m. when he allowed himself to think of Beacon Hills, and continued living his life as he saw fit.

He had been into his second year when, out of the blue, in his favorite coffee shop, he saw Lydia Martin.

He and Lydia had been casual friends from high school – they were part of what was considered the popular crowd along with Jackson and Allison – and although he knew Lydia was smarter than she let people on, he didn’t expect Lydia to go to MIT for college. He remembered Lydia mentioning she wanted to take college overseas once in passing at a random conversation they had over a study session in the library.

He found himself walking over to Lydia after grabbing his coffee by the counter, and he was only a few steps away when Lydia flicked her gaze up from her papers and books and saw him.

“Danny?”

“Hey Lydia. Pleasant surprise to see you here,” Danny felt himself smiling.

Lydia stood up and threw a loose one armed hug at him when he got to her table, and they both sat back down, Lydia taking a bite out of the bagel on her side.

“I didn’t even know you were here in MIT. If I’d known, I would’ve reached out,” Lydia said, a slightly accusing tone in her voice. Danny picked up on the _‘you didn’t even tell me where you were when you left_ ’ that wasn’t said, so he only smiled sheepishly before letting out a chuckle.

“I didn’t know if I would be missed.”

Lydia scoffed. “Please, losing you, Jackson, and Isaac from the lacrosse team put a huge dent in their first string lineup. I had to hear Stiles complain to Scott about how Finstock railed on him hard since he had to fill in the missing roster since he was a senior by then.”

“At least he made first string. He’s good, just needed a lot of practice,” Danny replied, a little surprised at how casual Lydia mentioned Stiles and Scott in conversation, “you still friends with them?”

“Of course,” Lydia replied, “why wouldn’t I be?”

“I didn’t mean that,” Danny replied, “it’s just, you spent a really long time not really paying them any attention, and then all of a sudden you were all so close.”

“You could say that circumstances back then sort of pushed us together. And they helped me, you know, during that particularly difficult year,” Lydia replied, her eyes going into a far-off look, “I don’t know how I would’ve moved forward without them.”

Danny knew about what Lydia was talking about. They were in their second year when all sorts of strange things began to happen. There was a lot weird happenings and deaths in Beacon Hills, and he knew that Lydia, Stiles, Scott, and Allison had been heavily involved in it all.

It was the year Stiles was committed to Eichen House, and Lydia lost Allison Argent and Aiden, Ethan’s brother. He even heard the rumors that Allison died right there in Scott’s arms. It was that horrible year that Ethan broke up with him to move away to grieve his twin’s death, and he confirmed the existence of werewolves with his then ex, and promptly moved out of town himself weeks after.

“I’m glad you had them. I wish I was a better friend and been there for you.”

“It’s fine, Danny,” Lydia shook her, shaking the gloom away, “I’m sure you had reasons to move away. After everything that’s happened in Beacon Hills, I wouldn’t blame you for staying away.”

“It became a little too much to take in,” Danny confided, “especially when I got the whole confirmation that werewolves were a thing.”

Lydia froze and stared at him, surprise coloring her face, before a smile graced her perfect red lips. “How did you know?” she asked, not even questioning the absurdity of Danny’s statement.

“Ethan confirmed it with me when we broke up. But I’ve known something was up since first year. Jackson and Scott weren’t exactly subtle on keeping secrets – it was obvious they were hiding something, and then that thing with Stiles and his cousin Miguel happened, who was actually Derek Hale, and then things just kept getting stranger and stranger until I just…you know, accidentally found out.”

“How?”

“I was out late at school one night when I saw Scott, Stiles, and Isaac on the lacrosse field. I don’t think I was close enough for them to see or sense, but I was close enough to see them get a little furry for a moment. Stiles isn’t one, is he?”

“No, he’s human,” Lydia replied.

“And you are?”

“A banshee.”

“What do you do?”

“I can sense death. I scream when someone’s about to die.”

“Whoa.”

“Yes, _whoa_ ,” Lydia rolled her eyes, “at one point Stiles changed my name in his contacts as Lydia McScreamerson of Death thinking it’d be funny.”

“I take it you didn’t laugh.”

“No. I did, however, got back at him eventually after the sheriff told us his real name. His contact name in my phone is his real first name,” Lydia smiled smugly, and Danny didn’t miss how Lydia seemed to brighten up at the topic.

Danny couldn’t help but smile shrewdly. “First name basis with Stiles now I see. Anything I should know about that?”

“I think it’s normal for me to know my boyfriend’s real name don’t you think?” Lydia replied drily before smirking.

This time, it was Danny’s turn to freeze in surprise. Lydia laughed lightly at Danny’s expression, looking smug that she got the drop on Danny this time.

“You and _Stiles_?”

“Yep.”

“No.”

“Is it really so hard to believe?”

“I can’t believe his ten-year-plan to woo you actually worked.” Danny didn’t even see Stiles’s Facebook status change - like _what_.

“You heard of that too, huh?” Lydia sounded amused, “a lot of things didn’t go according to his ten-year-plan to woo me – even I could tell you that. And to be honest, it took me a long time to realize that I liked him back, and by that point, I thought I lost him.”

“What happened?” Danny asked.

“It’s Beacon Hills, Danny,” Lydia shook her head, “shit happens.”

“But you’re together now?”

“It appears I’m stuck with him now,” Lydia replied, looking happy despite her use of words.

“Tell me everything.”

Danny and Lydia stayed at the café for more than two hours catching up on everything that went on at Beacon Hills after he left: Liam Dunbar, the deadpool, Meredith, the Dread Doctors, Theo Raeken, Deputy Parrish, the chimeras, Eichen House, the Wild Hunt, Monroe, and Gerard Argent.

And Stiles. Lydia told him about Stiles saving her from Eichen, and how Lydia called back to Stiles from the literal plane of nonexistence, and getting their pack together under Scott.

The pack was scattered across the world at the moment, and Lydia got the drop on Danny again when she told him she was actually a third year since she entered MIT as a sophomore, and then a third time when she accidentally slipped and told him that Jackson came back to Beacon Hills briefly and that he was engaged to Ethan.

“You _cannot_ be serious.”

Lydia winced. “I suppose it’s strange, hearing that your then best friend and ex-boyfriend got together in the end.”

“Tell Jackson that if I don’t get invited to the wedding, I’ll find a way to trash his beloved Porsche that’s sitting in the Whittemore residence back in Beacon Hills.”

“I’ll make sure to inform him,” Lydia said in between laughter.

Danny leaves the café that night after exchanging numbers with Lydia with promises to meet up again sometime soon.

And when Danny’s life was then filled with Lydia, Stiles, Derek, and the occasional visit from Scott and Cora, he finally realizes that this was what he had been missing out on all those years after moving away from Beacon Hills. He kind of wishes that he’d been part of the secret – part of the pack – sooner, but looking back at the time he spent trying to distance himself from all the chaos and looking at where he is now with them, he supposed it wasn’t all that bad.

After all, he’d found his way back to them in the end.

 

* * *

 

“C’mon Stiles. Only two more miles for this lap.”

“I can’t. I’m dying now. I really am. You have to carry me back home now.”

“Don’t be a drama queen.”

“Easy for you, you’re not exactly human.”

“This is only the second lap. C’mon, running gets easier with enough time.”

“Of course you’d know,” he heard Stiles mutter. Derek stiffens.

“What’s that suppose to mean.”

“Nothing,” Stiles snapped, still out of breath but still sounding irritated.

"It's never nothing with you Stiles," Derek replied, "what are you saying?"

"It's nothing, just me being unnecessarily angsty. And I suppose me saying anything to you would make me a hypocrite, considering I'm guilty of doing the same."

Derek was quiet for a moment, thinking over his next words, before he turned back to Stiles.

"Stiles, if there was anyone who was an expert at running, that would be me."

Stiles lifted his head to look at Derek, who was looking beyond the horizon over the crest of the small hill they were jogging on. He looked a little out of breath, but not from running.

"For so long, running was all I've known how to do. Back when Laura died, I came back to Beacon Hills to find her killer and to avenge her death. To seek justice for it. You and Scott were there since the beginning, and I realized that for that time, I vacillated between running away from you and running towards you two when everything went to shit. I think for a time, I mistook running towards danger and conflict as holding responsibility for everything that happened, when in fact, I was just running away from it all by not really thinking about it."

Stiles stood up straight. He felt his heart twinge at Derek's words, knowing the werewolf wasn't the only one who had that line of thinking. He had lied to his Dad for so long since Scott was bitten, about sleeping late and being at crime scenes when he shouldn't be present, and about everything that was really happening in town until the Darach incident happened.

"That cost me a lot of people."

Stiles knows. He's seen it. He's lived through it as well.

"When I gave up my Alpha powers to save Cora, I was relieved. Relieved that I didn't have to saddle the expectations I gave myself on being the leader I wasn't, and when Scott became the Alpha, I was secretly happy that I could hold anything wrong that happened on somebody else. Anybody else that wasn't me.

"But I still felt like I was running. I thought Jennifer understood my brokenness, and I guess she did, and it's why she decided to want me as her guardian, because deep inside me she knew I was craving for a purpose to continue as I was. That's why she's part of my biggest fears. She showed me how truly vulnerable I was, and I hated myself for it for so long."

"Then Braeden came along."

"Yeah. And she didn't fix me - she made me want to be better. And I tried so hard to stop running, that when I realized what I had to do to really know what it means to stop running, I had to go away."

"And you left us. Just like that you left us in Mexico."

"I'm sorry I didn't keep in touch, but I'm not sorry I left, Stiles. I needed to find myself, and I couldn't do that by staying in the place where I lost too much."

"And did you find it? Yourself? Whatever it was you were looking for? Did you finally stop running away from what you were so afraid of?"

"Yes and no."

"Yes and no?"

"Yes, I found my peace. I found what it was that I wanted to do, and that was to save other people like me - like us - who were hunted. And the thing is, I realized that I may stop running away from the things that terrify me, but I wasn't going to stop running. Because what matters most to me isn't what I was running from, but why I kept running, and where I was headed headed."

"Have you?"

"Have I what?"

"Have reached it. Wherever you were running to."

Derek stared at him, a soft look in his eyes as it shifted from warm brown to bright green in the morning light. Stiles couldn't help but look away from Derek's gaze - his eyes filled with too much emotion for someone who was looking at him.

Derek looked at Stiles like he was more than just a person that he knew from years of saving each other from every supernatural threat that fell their way. He looked at Stiles like he was the destination, like somehow, Derek kept running just so he could be with him here – right in this moment, telling him these words, looking at him.

But maybe Stiles was just weirdly emotional from Derek's complete honesty this morning. His rationalizing and denial of his initial thoughts made Stiles realize that maybe he had been doing a lot of running of his own than he realized.

Derek gave him a small smile before taking a step forwards, ready to start to a slow jog again. Stiles shook himself from his wayward musings and fell into place with him, letting himself be occupied with other thoughts.

"I'm here now, aren't I?"

Stiles almost missed hearing Derek's murmured answer, and with no hesitation, he answered back.

"Yeah. Yeah you are."

 

* * *

 

It never ceases to surprise Jackson Whittemore that he is actually friends with Stiles Stilinski.

Jackson moved to Beacon Hills with the Whittemores when he was ten years old, moving away from Chicago and into the quiet town in the hopes that the change of place would help Jackson separate himself from the car accident his parents died in. The Whittemores were lawyers, friends of his parents, and very well off, and moving into the sleepy town of Beacon Hills where nothing changed and everything stayed the same, Jackson took the liberty of thinking he was the most interesting event to happen to town.

A few years later, he’s amended that thinking of course, what with being with Lydia Martin, the most popular girl in town, and the Argents’ arrival and frickin’ _werewolves_ happening, that it came to the point that he needed to move away again.

This time, to another continent.

Jackson will admit he left rather hastily, and even then, the closure he and Lydia got around the summer before their second year in high school started felt a little too much like it was something to be done out of necessity rather than feeling. Jackson will always love Lydia, for she was the person who made him believe in putting his faith in people, and that, as screwed up as he was, he was capable of loving someone truly beyond himself amidst his issues and insecurities.

Their love literally brought him back from the dead after all – it was the stuff of fairy tales.

Still, what love they had wasn’t enough to make him stay – he needed space and time to think about who he was seriously, and he couldn’t do that in the same place where so much of what he believed in changed so much.

Scott once told him over a long distance call after the incident with Monroe’s hunters that true love never dies, and you don’t forget your first love, and Jackson agrees.

Jackson Whittemore and Lydia Martin were truly in love – True Love, it was labeled – but he’s learned over the years that your first love, your true love, and the love that stays don’t necessarily mean all the same person.

Unless of course, you’re Stiles Stilinski.

Jackson used to _hate_ Stiles solely because the boy adored his then girlfriend. He could see the adoration and submission Stiles was willing to subject himself to in order to get Lydia’s attention, and it infuriated him to see someone openly approach who he considered was his.

Admittedly, towards the end they were a little more civil with each other – they were at least able to hold conversation without sarcasm for ten minutes and the restraining order was revoked – and after ending things with Lydia, he had at least the sense to try and tie loose ends before leaving. He sought and told Danny about his moving, and sought Derek and Scott about werewolf business, and left Stiles as his last stop.

Stiles asked him about his move and about being a lone werewolf in unfamiliar territory, to which he replied Derek endorsed him to a pack in London to help him. They made small talk and said their apologies from all their misgivings throughout knowing each other, and after that, they shook hands and promised to be civil if not friends the next time they meet.

_“Watch her for me, okay? Though I suppose you’ll do that without me asking.”_

_“I will, Jackson. I promise.”_

The next time they do meet it was two years later; Jackson was a war prisoner, having been saved by Stiles kicking down the door open and Lydia banshee-screaming all over the place.

Things were crazy after that, with Jackson catching up on everything that’s gone on in Beacon Hills in his absence save for the parts Ethan already told him about. He can’t help the furtive glances he threw Lydia and Stiles; he knew they were together now, but their subtle contact with each other was captivating.

Hands held loosely, pinkies wrapped around other. A hand to the shoulder, a brush of fingers tucking in a strand of hair behind her ear, casually leaning on each other. Small, hidden smiles thrown at each other, as if sharing a private moment in the company of pack.

Jackson couldn’t imagine himself like that with Lydia, even back then, especially when their relationship was based on deceit, social reputation, and the need to be the one in control; their true feelings for each other hidden behind it all. It was True Love, yes, but anybody could have told them they were a ticking time bomb waiting to go off.

It was a few days later in a local coffee shop that Jackson caught the scent of a familiar boy enter, and after thinking about it and before Stiles could leave with his coffee at the bar, he called his name out and waved at him.

Stiles merely gave him a strange look, before striding over to his table, plopping down to the seat in front of him and raising an eyebrow at him.

“Jackson. To what do I owe your honored summons?”

Jackson snorted; if there was anyone who was capable of sounding dorky and condescending at the same time, it was Stiles.

“I was bored. Ethan’s off at the cemetery to visit his brother and I wanted to give him some time. I suppose you could entertain me.”

“How magnanimous,” Stiles said drily.

Jackson looked at him appraisingly, before taking a sip of his own coffee and speaking. “So. You and Lydia huh?”

Stiles looked down at his coffee, biting his lip in an attempt to hide a smile.

“Yeah.”

Jackson nodded. “Finally?”

Stiles laughed. “Dude, even I didn’t expect it. I mean yeah, I adored her since fourth grade, but that was like, intense infatuation you know? When I actually became friends with her, I sort of fell out of that and just liked her as a friend. I mean, I still went to lengths for her, but you know, in less of a lovestruck zombie way. Sorry, I know you and Lydia had that whole True Love thing going on, but you’re with Ethan now right? This isn’t the conversation you tell me to stay away from Lydia because I don’t deserve her, is it?”

“No. It isn’t. And I do still love Lydia, just not the same way, and I am happy with Ethan. Very happy. And if there was a person that deserved Lydia, it would be someone who really knew her, stayed, and never left.”

There was a beat of silence between them. Stiles stared at his coffee before taking a sip, as Jackson stared outside, where the scene was so much the same and so different from the years he’s been away.

“Sometimes it feels like a dream, being with Lydia, like it isn’t real.”

Jackson snapped his attention back to Stiles, who was looking pensive. “I mean, I’m glad I’m with her, it’s just… sometimes things don’t feel like they’re real.”

Stiles chuckled, and it sounds so hollow and familiar to Jackson, and he knows why. He’s been there too, after the kanima.

“Sorry, I probably sound either like an asshole or a mess.”

“I understand. Not a lot of people have experience with personal and existential crises like we do.”

And suddenly it’s so painfully clear how much they do have that in common – to be familiar with the creeping anxiety of waking up with lost hours of memory, their bodies being in places and doing things they had no control over, and being responsible for the deaths of many people by having someone else pilot their body for them.

Stiles’s Nogitsune was to Jackson’s Kanima, and while Jackson has had time to process his guilt and trauma being away from Beacon Hills, he knows Stiles hasn’t had that chance from all the stories he’s heard.

Stiles looked at him, his eyes clear and assessing and somehow vulnerable, and Jackson wonders again how he and Stiles have reached their point in their lives that they are in a coffee shop addressing their deep-seated trauma and guilt.

“I suppose not.”

From there, conversation followed. There were still awkward moments between them, and there were topics they weren’t sure the other was comfortable talking about, but they talked, and talked, and talked. Two cups of coffee turned to four then cups of tea, and Jackson ordered them pie. Jackson grew an appreciation for Stiles cutting wit and dry humor, and he could tell Stiles had taken to his underhanded compliments and not-really-snide remarks.

To anyone else, they might have sounded like two people who liked being assholes to each other, but Jackson didn’t care how he looked being around with Stiles Stilinski in public – not anymore – and he’s actually glad he’s had this with Stiles.

That even though Allison wasn’t with them, it was like finally, having Scott, Derek, Lydia, and Stiles back in his life felt like it was full circle, like he was back to where he belonged.

 

* * *

 

“Hey Stiles?”

“Yeah?”

“I won’t hate you for not solely being devoted to Lydia.”

“Oh…kay? I feel like I’ve had this conversation before with someone else, and I am now afraid of the direction this is going.”

Jackson snorted.

“And how did that conversation go?”

“…Not telling.”

“I have a feeling it involved being sixteen years old and an older guy in a leather jacket.”

“ _Jesus fucking Christ, Jackson!_ ”

“I’m not blind Stiles. And I’m not saying I understand, because I don’t, and I’m not saying you should choose between the two of them, because that’s unfair to you, but all I’m saying is that maybe you should at least be honest about it.”

Stiles sighed.

“I have no idea what to do with myself sometimes.”

“Neither do I with myself. Piece of advice though? Your first love, your true love, and the love that stays don’t necessarily mean all the same person.”

“Wow. Look at you, dishing out advice from a Lifetime movie.”

“Fuck off.”

Silence. Jackson looked back out the window, seeing the last stretches of sunlight fading. A few lampposts outside flickered to life, and in his pocket his phone buzzed, no doubt a text from Ethan.

“Lydia was my first and true love, but I was too broken then. Ethan came when I finally got myself together, and he stayed. He was the love that stayed.”

Stiles looked thoughtfully at his third cup of coffee, contents gone cold and almost empty.

“I have a feeling Lydia holds the same for you, and even she’s the love that stayed, though I think that last one, Lydia doesn’t get a monopoly of.”

“More than stayed, he was the love that _persists._ It’s annoying, really.”

Jackson laughed.

“But you like him. Love him.”

“Only the heavens know why I do.”

“You’re smart Stilinski. You’ll figure it out. Just like I did.”

 

* * *

 

When Stiles is away on missions with the FBI or Agent McCall, when he feels too weak from triggers and nightmares to call to call his dad, or Scott, or Lydia, or Derek, he calls Jackson to whisper in his ear that it’s okay, it’s not your fault, no, really, it isn’t, you’re doing fine.

He thinks that he’s lucky to have Jackson like this even after everything, and thinks if Jackson could redeem himself, then so can he.

 

* * *

 

"You were right. That taco was a mistake."

"I told you not eat it."

"But Lydia, _tacos._ "

"I won't even deign to pretend that I comprehend how your stomach and common sense operate together."

"You have a lot of running and workout sets to work on tomorrow."

"Ugh."

"I have to thank you for keeping Stiles in shape, Derek."

"He'd fail his physicals without me."

"Hey!"

"And you've practically moved in to his apartment at this point. Anything I need to worry about?"

"Other than Stiles accidentally braining himself using any gym equipment? None."

"Hmm. I do have one though. Do you think his bed could fit three people? I don't know how the three of us would fit in his bed."

Stiles choked on air.

"I could buy us a new bed."

" _Derek!_ "

"Excellent. You can keep Stiles on your side, cuddle up to him or whatever. He's a cover hog, and I prefer my sheets dry from his drool."

"Are you giving me permission to sleep with your boyfriend?"

"As if you don't already?"

" _Lydia!_ "

"It's how I know his stamina is improving."

" _Oh my god!"_

Lydia raised an eyebrow at him, her lips upturned in a hidden smirk. Derek _that bastard_ was outright grinning wolfishly, and Stiles swears one of these days the two of them will end him.

"Now Stiles, no need to be demure. I know that Derek sleeps in the same bed as you. I heard he has to hold your hand so you can fall asleep sometimes."

Lydia gave him a pointed look, and Stiles knows that was more accusation than teasing. So Lydia knows he's still having nightmares that he wasn’t telling her despite her asking. Shit.

"I-"

"It's fine Stiles. It's not your fault," Lydia replied, knowing that Stiles picked up on her subtle remark, "I'm just glad you're not alone."

Stiles knows that Lydia is thinking about her "not being present enough" for him, and he can't stand it.

"You've always been my anchor, Lydia. You do help. Thinking of you helps."

"He's right," Derek seconded quietly.

Lydia shrugged, light smile on her face, brushing off the topic. Stiles doesn't want to let it go, but it's a conversation better reserved if it was just the two of them, so he lets Lydia steer the conversation to other topics. They talk about Jackson and Ethan's latest fight in the marriage, and Derek talked about Peter and Cora in Argentina.

 

* * *

 

Lydia watched Stiles order coffee at the counter. He was gesticulating wildly with his hands, engaged in an animated conversation with the barista about the merits of drinking coffee late in the evening, according to Derek.

"If you're thinking I'm somehow feeling down because I'm not with Stiles all the time, you're an idiot."

Derek glanced at Lydia, looking a little curious.

"I wondered why you felt that way."

"What did I smell like?"

"Affection. But mostly relief."

"I really don't mind if you stay with Stiles. I'd even encourage you and Cora to actually move in to the place, considering it was your family's money that bought it. And Stiles would love the company, despite the numerous whining he'd throw."

"Why relieved though? I had thought that maybe you'd feel a bit down since you're not as close to him as I was."

Lydia scoffed. "Don't be ridiculous. We’re adults. I am still my own person. Just because I'm with Stiles doesn't mean I want to be with him 24/7. That would be exhausting."

Derek laughed.

"And besides, the main reason I felt so bad about the distance before was because we barely had anyone with us in the places we found ourselves in. Being alone after being around so much of each other was jarring. But I found Danny and Aria in MIT, and Stiles found Aspen, Cora, and you."

Lydia glanced at Stiles, now waiting by the counter, still engaged in conversation with the barista, but at a more subdued tone.

"But I suppose it would be more apt to say that _you_ found _him_."

Derek looked away from her, looking out the window.

"It wasn't coincidence that you and Stiles found each other on that mission all those years ago, arriving together for the first war with Monroe, wasn't it?" Lydia asked, tone soft but accusing.

"...No."

"And you tried so hard to stay away afterwards, going back with Cora to whatever South American country you managed to sequester a life in, only to find yourself running back to the human boy you found in the woods with a newly bitten werewolf all those years ago."

"What do you want me to say, Lydia?"

"Nothing," she replied, "you don't have to say a thing you’re not ready to say."

There was a beat of silence then. Derek looked back at Lydia, who was already looking at him. Derek took her in, the once spoiled, rich, snotty girl all those years ago, now a woman well into her youth and intelligence, less sharp around the edges and softer in places she wasn't before. It's a good look on her, Derek will admit.

"Hey Derek?"

“Hmm?”

"Can I ask you a favor?"

"What."

"Keep him safe, okay?"

Derek gave Lydia a soft smile before turning to Stiles, beaming in their direction as he walked towards them, tray of takeout coffee in his hands.

"I will. You don't even have to ask."

 

* * *

 

_From: Stiles Stilinski_

_To: Scott McCall_

_10:47 pm_

_It’s Monroe. They have Derek._

 

* * *

 

 

Derek slowly woke to the sound of rustling paper, like someone was turning the page of a book. When he opened his eyes, he was staring at a familiar ceiling, enveloped in familiar scents, as the lines of sunlight shone through the blinds by the window, bathing the room in a warm glow. He was lying in a soft bed, covers draws up to his chest, and though he felt comfortable, Derek still felt a faint throb of pain on his side. He tried to sit up and take in his surroundings, grunting in the process, when he heard a faint _“oh”_ from a distance away.

“You’re awake.”

Derek managed to sit up and look up at Lydia Martin, who was sitting primly on a chair by the study desk in the room.

“What…Where am I?”

“Stiles’s place,” Lydia replied, closing the book in her hand softly and placing it on the table, the textbook clearly forgotten, “home.”

At the last word, Derek felt a weird twisting feeling in his chest, like someone pinched his heart and sent a warm rush of relief over him.

“What happened? I remember being in the bunker…”

“We rescued you. The entire pack is here.”

“The whole pack? Here? In Virginia?”

“Yep,” Lydia replied, popping the ‘p’ at the end, “we all came after that text Stiles sent us a few nights ago. Cora was inconsolable, and though Peter tried to act nonchalant, he was evidently on edge. Stiles was especially worried.”

“Really?”

“Derek, we just saw each that night. You, Stiles, and I had went our separate ways after getting coffee, and I was already on my way back to Massachusetts when I got the text. Scott and the others back in California took a plane here, and even the pack from overseas are here.”

“Don’t you think that was a little extreme, having everyone come for me?”

“Maybe. But Stiles texted us in short, clipped, and grammatically correct sentences. That in itself was a cause for worry.”

Derek sighed. “Where is he?”

Lydia turned her head towards the opposite side of the room, and as Derek followed her gaze, he found Stiles slumped across the bean bag chair by the window, his tall frame golden under the sunlight streaming through the window. He was asleep in what Derek deemed quite an uncomfortable position, his mouth hung open. His clothes looked rumpled, like he hadn’t changed in days.

He smelled like it, too.

“He hasn’t really left your side since we rescued you yesterday. Cora hasn’t either, but Peter managed to steal her away a few hours ago so he could feed her since she hasn’t relaxed all that much from the fight.”

Derek looked at Stiles and saw the bags under his eyes. Now that he had his wits with him, he could smell the fatigue and anxiety over the young man, his heartbeat an unhealthy beat quicker than normal in his sleep.

 “Tell me what happened,” Derek turned to Lydia.

“You went ahead saying you needed to turn in early, remember? After sending me off and Stiles got home that night, he found your bloody leather jacket on his bed, with a personal letter from Monroe threatening Stiles to leave the FBI program or that he’d be next. Apparently, she’s caught wind that he’s using the FBI to help supernaturals. That’s when he sent out the texts to us, and called Agent McCall about the situation. In thirty-six hours, everyone was here. Turns out Monroe managed to capture you easily because her base of operations was in Washington, and that she managed to turn a few people in the military to support her cause.

“We managed to find Monroe and her officials. After days of raids and running around following loose trails, we tracked them down and got them.”

“Does that mean…?”

“It’s over Derek. Monroe was finally caught by the FBI and charged with multiple counts of murder and illegal possession of firearms. Stiles led the arrest himself, Scott by his side.”

Derek looked back at Stiles. “He looks exhausted.”

Lydia shook her head and chuckled. “He’s practically dead to the world at the moment, isn’t he?”

“As reckless as always.”

“Aren’t we all?” Lydia raised an eyebrow.

Derek huffed a laugh. “Stiles has always been for overdoing things. He wanted to protect the pack after an attack on me and he actually leads an arrest on her. Unbelievable.”

“Is that really so hard to believe?” Lydia asked.

“I suppose not, not when it comes to the pack. He would’ve done the same for any one of us.”

“Hmm," Lydia hummed absently, "I doubt he’d be as frantic as he was if it was, say, Theo or Ethan.”

“If it was you, or Scott, or even the Sheriff, Stiles would move the world if he could,” Derek replied.

“Stiles would sacrifice himself to the Nemeton to rescue his father; he would walk into a pool of gasoline while Scott was drenched in it as he held the fire, and he would storm Eichen House and risk his life to save me.”

Derek looked back at Lydia. “Yeah. Yeah he would. He already did.”

“And he’d hold you up for two hours in a swimming pool instead of saving himself, and he’d always double check himself and turn back to look for you and see if you’re safe.”

There was a brief silence between them, Derek refusing to rise to Lydia's words.

“What are you thinking?” Lydia asked.

Derek hesitated a moment before speaking. “I just don’t understand why Stiles would go to such lengths just to get me back. There were a lot of hunters Lydia – if something went wrong, you all could’ve died.”

“You ‘ _don’t understand why Stiles would go to such lengths just to get you back_ ’? Please, Derek, Stiles would mobilize the entire FBI to rescue you.”

“Now you’re exaggerating.”

“You’re right. He only got about one-third of the entire FBI to work with him in less than forty-eight hours.”

Derek watched as Stiles snuffled in his sleep, his slumber continuing uninterrupted.

“You know how he feels about you right?”

He looked back at Lydia, whose gaze was on Stiles, her voice fond and soft, tone so misplaced from what she was saying. Like she didn't mind Stiles having eyes for someone who isn't her.

“I’d have to be stupid not to notice.”

“It’s one of his flaws, you know, alongside his fierce loyalty that constantly lands him in danger,” Lydia continued, voice soft, “he's always known how to love those who are hard to love.”

Derek closed his eyes to shut Lydia out. He thinks of Lydia as the girl who used her façade of the shallow popular girl who didn’t know herself as well as she thought, keeping people at arm's length, and Malia who didn’t know how to be human after being a coyote for more than half her life.

“There are only a handful of people that Stiles will move the world in order to make them happy. His dad. Scott. Me,” Derek didn’t have to see Lydia to know she was looking at him. “You.”

“And I know in the end you managed to find a love that didn’t lay waste to you – nice job, landing Braeden by the way, and sorry you guys weren't end game – but even if you found someone who was just as foolhardy and stubborn and fiercely caring of those close to them, you can’t lie and tell yourself you’re not subconsciously looking for him in all the people you meet.”

“He loves you,” Derek cut her off.

“And a person can love many people in many different ways,” Lydia fired back without missing a beat, “Stiles is no exception.”

Derek opened his eyes and stared at Lydia. “How could just sit there and talk about me and him like it’s not a big deal?”

Lydia paused, looking away from him and towards Stiles, who continued to sleep despite their conversation increasing in volume.

“Stiles loves the pack. He loves us. A lot. Very much. And I don't think I would've realized I wanted to be with someone like him if he hadn’t been so steadfast in his love and waited for me to become the person I am now. But Derek, you and I know that he doesn’t spare that same amount of love for himself,” Lydia looked back at Derek and gave him a loose smile.

“Stiles will always be plagued by the demons that he's faced - the horrors he blames on himself and the nightmares he will never completely lose - and I think Stiles loves too hard because he feels that if he doesn't love as fiercely we wouldn't love him back at all. And that's stupid, because he doesn't have to prove anything to me or any of us for him to be loved back."

And that, Derek thought, was a line of thinking he and Stiles both had - loving fiercely in the hopes to be loved back just the same.

He had failed so hard at loving people, losing them and them betraying him, that he, like Lydia, kept people at arm's length to keep his heart safe. But dammit, Derek wanted someone he could hold and would hold him back, and yes, maybe Braeden did help him learn to love the right people in the right way, true and honest, but -

"We tried to be strong so hard that we kept people away for so long," Derek began, "that we don't always remember how it is to really love." Lydia smiled at him sadly, like she had been thinking the same thing.

"We're difficult people to love, Lydia. We need people like Stiles to love us," Derek said with a low voice.

"I love Stiles, Derek," Lydia simply replied.

Derek heard the unspoken " _do you?_ "

Derek turned away from Lydia and focused on Stiles. He looked so tired and beautiful under the streaks of sunlight streaming through the blinds. He traced his gaze on Stiles's awkward form on the beanbag chair, his long lashes and sculpted nose, his lips slightly parted as he snored, his moles scattered across his face, his neck, and his arms - his arms that were stronger than what people thought.

He would know; those arms kept him afloat and alive once upon a time.

Derek wasn't one for words - he never was - but Lydia heard his unsaid words anyway. She gave Derek a small smile and stood up, taking her book from the desk with her, leaving Derek to watch Stiles as he slept soundly.

 

* * *

 

_Stiles found himself waking up to white. As he stood up from where he laid, he took one long sweep of where he was. He was in an endlessly white room, with the room's walls far to be seen, the overhead lights casting equal lighting in the massive space._

_It was like that scene where Harry met Dumbledore when Voldemort killed him, or like -_

_Like the time he found himself joining with the Nemeton, and being held captive by the Nogitsune._

_All of a sudden, Stiles was seized with a wave of panic; he brought his hands to his head and he closed his eyes and counted slowly, breathing in and out, in and out, in and out..._

_"Stiles?"_

_Stiles opened his eyes and turned to the source of the voice. Her gentle eyes looked over him with concern, her mouth pulled into a worried line. Her hair reached her shoulders, and though concerned for Stiles, she kept a graceful posture, quiver of arrows slung on her back, her left hand pointing her bow to the ground._

_Allison Argent looked the same as Stiles remembered her that night._

_"Allison."_

_"Hey Stiles,"  Allison smiled, her face relaxing into a familiar fond look._

_"What are you doing here? Where am I?"_

_Stiles ran his head over the countless possibilities he might have found himself back in this place._

_"Am I dead?" Stiles blurted out. "Oh my_ god _, I'm dead aren't I? Jesus Christ, is this for real?"_

_"No," Allison shook her head, "you're just really tired. Right now you're asleep and connected to the Nemeton here in Washington."_

_"There's a supernatural tree in Washington?"_

_"There's one in every unique place."_

_Stiles didn't understand. "I don't - I don't understand. Why am I connected to the Nemeton? Why is it showing you to me?"_

_"Gratitude," Allison replied, "it's thanking you for finally taking down Monroe and her crew of hunters. Now the population of the supernatural can rest easy with less interference from rogue hunters, and finally regress to the mean."_

_“That would imply the Nemeton is a sentient tree capable of doing stuff like what we’re having now by its choosing.”_

_“The Washington Nemeton is much nicer than the one in Beacon Hills. It isn’t even a stump, it’s an actual tree. That you also saved from Monroe and her crew of fanatics from finding.”_

_"And it's thanking me by showing you," Stiles couldn't contain the hint of bitterness in his tone._

_Allison smiled wanly at him. "You didn't want to see me?"_

_"I see you enough in my dreams," Stiles replied, sounding tired._

_"I'm sorry."_

_At that, Stiles let out a crazed laugh. Allison looked at him in surprise, worry creasing her forehead._

_"You're sorry?_ You're sorry? _Allison, you have nothing to be sorry for, and I have everything to_ be _sorry. So don't - just don't okay? I'm the one who should say sorry."_

_"You shouldn't have to. It wasn't your fault."_

_"I remember everything, you know. Even when we separated, that demonic fox showed me visions of what he would see. I saw you with my eyes. You never should have..."_

_"None of us should have died that night," Allison finished for him. "Not you, or Lydia, or Scott, or Isaac, or Kira."_

_"Allison, I'm sorry."_

_"It would've been Isaac if not me. It would've been you."_

_"We still miss you, you know."_

_"I miss you guys too. I wish I hadn't left Isaac the way I did, so soon after we were just getting started. And I miss Scott, even though we weren't together in the end. I miss Lydia a lot, too. She lost too much in that fight. I miss my dad. So much."_

_Allison walked closer to where Stiles was, taking his hand._

_"I also regret not having been really close to you, beyond being Scott’s best friend. The only two non-supernaturals in the pack, one would have thought we'd be closer. The hunter and the tactician. We would've been great friends Stiles, if only we had more time," Allison looked at Stiles, her eyes a little wet._

_"Are you real? Are you really Allison? Or are you just the Nemeton messing with me?" Stiles asked, his voice hoarse, unable to pull away from Allison._

_Allison smiled. "What do you think?"_

_Stiles laughed. "This is ridiculous."_

_"Story of our lives."_

_Stiles shook his head, still in shock from seeing her._

_"I never blamed you for my death Stiles."_

_Stiles looked at Allison, soft and serious and strong, "I never did."_

_"I took you away from them. Lydia lost her best friend. Chris lost his daughter. Scott and Isaac lost you."_

_"And I don't blame any of it on you. I need you to know that, and I need you to believe that," Allison replied, her gaze never wavering._

_"God, Allison, I'm sorry," Stiles choked, tears running down his cheeks._

_"Sssh, it's okay, it's okay," Allison whispered, "please don't be sorry. There's nothing to be sorry for."_

_"I'm sorry!"_

_Stiles lunged at Allison and wrapped his arms around her, breaking down and crying into her shoulder. Allison let him, hugging him back and rubbing his back soothingly, whispering sweet assurances into his ear telling him everything's okay._

_When Stiles calmed down, they sat down and talked. Stiles told Allison of everything that happened since she had gone, about Isaac going to France, Derek going to South America, Kira with the Skinwalkers, and Malia going to France as well. He tells her about Scott's bitten beta, Liam, and he tells her of the dead pool, Jordan Parrish the hellhound, the Dread Doctors, the Wild Hunt, and Gerard, Monroe, and Kate._

_He tells Allison about college, Lydia attending MIT and Scott at UCLA studying to be a vet, and him being in the FBI program. Allison listened to every word, laughed at Stiles's jokes and asked questions about the pack._

_Soon enough, Stiles ran out of things to tell her, and by then they were sitting side by side, touching shoulders, Allison leaning on him. It reminded him of a time when it was just the three of them - Scott, Allison, and him, the unfortunate third wheel. Stiles is a little glad to have this, to have this moment with her that he could call his own, even if it was all in his head._

_"Just because it's all in your head doesn't mean it isn't real."_

_"I just said that out loud, didn't I?"_

_Allison chuckled, and Stiles brushed away a strand of hair that strayed across her face. She smiled at him, and for a second Stiles could almost believe like it was back in their first year - when Scott barely had his shit together and Allison wasn't a hunter yet and he barely knew anything about everything. Back in those days, Stiles couldn't imagine how anything could be any worse._

_How fucking wrong he was._

_"I forgive you."_

_"Allison..."_

_Stiles looked at her. Allison took his face in her hands and swiped her thumb across his cheek, a tear rolling down his cheek. She smiled at him, bright and happy like everything was fine._

_"It's okay. I forgive you, Stiles, do you hear me? I do."_

_"Allison, please."_

_"I already told you there was nothing to be sorry for. But you needed to hear it. So let me say it. I forgive you," Allison leaned away and crouched in front of him, "just promise me something, okay Stiles?"_

_"Okay," Stiles replied, voice tight._

_"Promise me you'll forgive yourself too."_

 

* * *

 

Stiles woke up to his familiar bedroom ceiling, taking a moment to register he was in bed and not at the beanbag chair he fell asleep on a few hours ago. It was a little dark now; Stiles figured the sun just set, and he laid in bed thinking of his dream.

_"Promise me you'll forgive yourself too."_

 

* * *

 

Stiles wears Allison's bracelet when he comes out of his bedroom. He's decided maybe he'll continue wearing it, carrying a little part of her with him.

 

* * *

 

Stiles found Derek in his kitchen when he padded downstairs. He still looks a little worse for wear, but otherwise fine to stand on his feet. Derek looked at him and cocked his head in his direction. Stiles looked down and took notice of himself; he was still wearing his clothes from two nights ago without having the chance to get changed in the fight with Monroe.

No doubt Derek was taking a huge whiff of his three days worth of stress.

“Uh…”

“Coffee?”

“Um, yeah, sure. Are you…?”

“I’m fine to move, Stiles. You should take a bath. Towels and clothes are on the bathroom counter.”

After obediently and sluggishly moving his feet to bathroom and getting in the bath, he came out half an hour later, more awake and in fresh clean clothes as he ran his fingers through his damp hair. By then, Derek had whipped up a huge stack of pancakes, bacon and scrambled eggs, and as he took the seat at the table, Derek set him a plate and his cup of coffee.

“What time is it?”

“Four.”

“…Are we training today?”

“No. You need rest. You’ve been asleep for more about nineteen hours, and I know you still need to rest from all that’s happened.”

"You're up pretty early."

"I woke up about an hour ago."

"You good?"

"Yeah. Just taking it slow. The rest are out."

“Out? Where’s the pack? Why aren’t they here?”

“Your dad, Melissa, and Chris flew in. They were here only about five hours ago, but we didn't wake you since you looked out of it. Scott and Lydia are with them now, explaining things with the local groups over at the hotel Jackson booked. The rest of the pack is either at that meeting or resting at the hotel nearby. Told them you'd need more space to rest and less time to be fussed over."

Stiles appreciated Derek doing so; he loved the pack, and he'd be happy knowing they were safe and he'd be happier if they were all together after the victory, but he's exhausted and spent, and he did appreciate the luxury of having the apartment all to himself. Apart from Derek of course, who he didn't mind being here at all.

"And you're here."

"Recovering. And watching over you."

Stiles sighed before scooping a large portion of eggs and bacon into his mouth. Derek raised an eyebrow at him.

"Stop it with the judgey-brows, Derek. I don't need it this early in the morning."

"I'm not judging you."

"I know I still look like shit."

"You look fine, Stiles. Just tired."

"Whose fault is that, huh?"

"I'm sorry. I totally forgot to inform you about my scheduled kidnapping and torture. I'll make sure to keep you updated on my social calendar -"

" _Dammit Derek!"_

Derek looked up from where he was seated and saw Stiles looking at him fiercely. His body lined with tension and unease, his shining with frustrated tears still unshed. Derek could immediately smell the frustration and exhaustion wafting off of him in waves.

"You don't - you don't get to _do that_ okay? You don't just -" Stiles let out a choked breath, "Don't, okay?"

"Okay," Derek replied cautiously. Stiles knew Derek could smell the uneasiness and anxiety rolling off of him. He didn't get it himself why he was so angry all of a sudden; it wasn't like he blamed Derek for getting captured. It was ridiculous.

But he was tired and he was worried and he was afraid that Monroe really took it too far this time, and what if he didn't make it what if the pack hadn't arrived as fast as they could what if he hadn't convinced Agent McCall and the FBI to listen to him and what if -

"Stiles, breathe."

Stiles took a lungful of air and tried to steady his breathing. He could feel his sight blurring and his hands shaking and the distant pain of falling out of his chair and sitting on the floor. He could feel warm hands on his shoulder, bright eyes looking at him with patience and worry and he can't _he can't_ not like this he can't -

"Ssh, Stiles, it's okay. Just breathe for me okay?"

He didn't know how long it took him to calm down. When he did find himself out of his panic attack, he was sitting on the floor, his back against a solid warmth. He could finally register the arms around him, someone else's hands clasped together around his stomach area. Derek's breathing was warm on his neck, and for a moment Stiles allowed himself to just lay there and close his eyes, let the moment be just between the two of them.

"I'm sorry. I thought...I thought I was past it. Past this."

"You don't have to be sorry for anything. Especially not about this."

"Shit."

"I'm sorry for worrying you," Derek began, "and thanks for saving me."

"It was -"

 _Nothing_ Stiles wanted to say, but he knows it wasn't - it _isn't_ nothing - it's something, and it's past time he tried to deny there wasn't anything there when there were years worth of _everything_ in it.

"It was you, Derek. It's you. It's a thing, I guess."

Stiles felt a soft chuckle rumble from Derek's chest.

"It's a thing. Our thing?" Derek's light tone had a slight teasing to it, and Stiles couldn't help but smile. His and Cora's sarcastic and annoying personalities were really rubbing off on the older guy, and Stiles couldn't help a soft chuckle of his own.

"Yeah. You know I'd always save your ass."

Stiles meant to be teasing back, but his voice was too soft to be teasing, too serious to sound like a half-hearted joke, and in the span of a second after saying, he realized how utterly serious he meant it.

He felt Derek's heart beat an erratic pace for a second, and he knows Derek knows.

Stiles decided to continue. "You have to know that by now, right?"

"You don't have to," Derek whispered.

"We're pack. We're there for each other. Always."

"You don't have to go this far for me. You didn't have to."

"I know. I've been told it was an overreaction that escalated too quickly into a full-blown war with Monroe. Again. Still. No regrets. And I know I don't have to for you, or anybody, but I..."

Stiles tilted his head towards Derek, their faces only centimeters apart.

"I want to."

 _I want you_.

And how Stiles wants, wants this, _wants him_ , that he should feel bad about wanting this when he has Lydia. But that conversation with Lydia over the Sausage Incident™ comes back to him, Lydia's unsurprised exasperation, and he knows it has always been there even before he and Lydia really became friends, and that she's okay with it.

_"Stiles, if I was able to tell that Jackson swung both ways, what makes you think I couldn't tell the same about anybody else?" Lydia asked, pointedly looking at him._

_"I was very fixated on you?"_

_"Don't act cute. You have eyes, and I have eyes. And anybody who makes jokes about the vendor's 'sausage' in the meat shop in the way you do, regardless of it being faux innocent and more credit to your ability to ramble on and on, is pretty much a dead giveaway."_

_"Lydia!"_

_"I'm not mad you know. I always knew I had to share space with everybody else in your heart. Scott and your dad, though not in the same way. And for a time, even Malia. And I know a certain blue-eyed wolf does too. Even now."_

_"How do you even know?"_

_"You've always been a little bitter about that outcome with the fight with Kate and Peter in Mexico. It took me a while, but I suppose it was obvious why. Even Scott picked up on it, that you were upset that_ he _didn't come back with you."_

_"I feel that you should be mad about this. Aren't you mad? I am apparently unfaithful."_

_"Stiles," Lydia began, " I know you haven't tried anything with him, I know you would do me right by not betraying my trust behind my back after everything we've been through. But all of us have been through a lot, not just us, and being together, with someone we trust, makes it better. And we're not exactly a completely normal couple. The bar for normal and acceptable for us vastly differs from the rest of the general population. I'm not suggesting you sex him up, or even that we do a threesome, though that_ is _an idea -" Lydia ignored the choked face of horror Stiles is throwing at her " - but stop trying to repress feelings that we both know are never going away."_

Stiles will forever love Lydia for her awesomeness and tolerance of his bullshit, but that - Lydia's unfailing approach to accept Stiles's complications - is what gives him really think about it. Lydia doesn't have to deal with his baggage - she deserves better, and he really hates it when Lydia is right about these things. He does love Derek, for a long time now, even if he hasn't been as present in his life for a period of time, and he does maybe want a little more.

He knows he's being selfish. Lydia knows that about him too. And yet she takes it all in stride anyways, accepting of his issues, just as much as he accepts the multitude of Lydia's baggage.

It's weird, Stiles think, to be in love with two people at the same time in ways so different from the other yet feel so natural to him.

Lydia was the love that evolved over time, the one that started from virtual strangers to being each other's best friend, the one he learned he was capable of risking himself to keep safe and protect, the one he would cross worlds to come back for.

And Derek...

Derek was the love he didn't think he would find, the one who showed him he could be better, stronger, smarter, and move past the tragedies life dished in front of him. He was the one who taught him it was possible to smile and be happy again after his whole world felt like it was collapsing on him.

And with Derek in front of him, safe with his arms around Stiles, it was kind of hard to look away and not have it mean anything at all.

 

* * *

 

Derek looked at him and couldn't help holding his breath. It would never stop being mesmerizing to him, how Stiles could look into anyone's eyes and say so little yet mean so much at the same time. Stiles looked people in the eyes with his everything - his attention and intentions clearly displayed in expressions, like he held authority and gave surrender at the same time.

It would be so easy for Derek to dip his head lower and meet Stiles.

Instead, he says "Thank you" and watched Stiles give that small smile he usually reserves for quiet moments.

It's the right choice, Derek thought, but without much preamble, Stiles twisted his body towards him and cups his face.

And for a few seconds, Derek forgot to breathe.

It wasn't a long one, barely even three seconds, but it was enough that when Stiles pulled away, he was completely speechless at the mirth dancing in Stiles's eyes.

"Like I said. I want to."

Derek doesn't know how the rest of the morning went. He does remember pulling himself together and joining Stiles back at the table. He remembers updating Stiles on what the pack is doing at the moment over breakfast gone cold, phone in his hand, Isaac texting him about the grand Washington Supernatural Meeting™ Scott is holding at the hotel. He remembers texting Isaac that Stiles is awake, and a few minutes later, Scott, Melissa, and the Sheriff are back at the apartment, fussing over Stiles, to which the man allows.

They watch the sun rise over by the balcony, and Derek thinks it's too perfect how Stiles's warm presence beside him feels like it belongs there, and he looks at Scott looking at them and he smiles back, nursing a cup of coffee of his own. He hears Melissa and the Sheriff join them, and he thinks, wonder even, _how did I get so lucky to be here?_

The conversation with Lydia earlier echoed back to him, the unspoken question ringing back to him.

_Do you?_

And Derek allows himself to think of the answer, and admitting it, even if not out loud, feels a little bit like freedom.

_I do, I do, I do._

 

* * *

 

Sheriff Noah Stilinski has had a lot of things go wrong for him. His job in law enforcement basically requires him to have experience in things going so wrong in so many ways and so many times. He knows tragedy so familiarly he would give a therapist a field day with the things he knows and can say, but he's always had a solid hold on sanity.

It was probably for his benefit since _werewolves_.

Being the widowed father of a hyperactive kid with ADD and a penchant for getting into trouble, and working shifts that would have child support raising their collective eyebrows with the number of nights he leaves Stiles alone in their house - it's hard. It's never gotten easier with time, just that he's gotten better at dealing with everything on his plate.

And despite Stiles getting into trouble with his teachers and getting caught doing stuff he shouldn't and looking into cases he should _definitely_ not look into, Stiles gets good grades, takes care of the house, cooks and cleans and gets him a healthy diet, and Noah will fight anyone who says his boy is a troubled kid.

He gets into a lot of trouble, but Stiles is a great son, and he's proud of him.

Noah shook his head out of his thoughts and brought his attention back to the meeting. He sat beside Melissa and Chris, the three of them adults watching the supernatural meeting happening before them being led by Scott and Lydia. It never ceases to amaze him, how these men and women before him were just kids once upon a time, and how the years have crept up on them and their children have grown into capable adults that contribute greatly to society.

"We've asked Jordan Parrish, our hellhound, to secure the Nemeton's safety," Lydia said to the crowd, "and I assure you, there are no deaths caused by hunters to happen any time soon."

Lydia was a very well-known and powerful banshee in the supernatural community, and Noah knows Lydia's words carried weight to calm the packs, covens, and even the code-abiding hunter groups gathered.

Technically, everyone in the pack had a reputation: True Alpha, FBI Agent, banshee, the last Hale wolf capable of the full shift, werecoyote, kanima-werewolf, former member of an Alpha pack, bitten beta to the True Alpha, beta by choice to the True Alpha, invisibility chimera, coyote-wolf chimera, resurrected werewolf, hellhound, human researcher, and hacker from MIT. And then the adults - the nurse, the sheriff, and the Argent.

Not to mention the druid descendant, selkie, shapeshifter, and fae that had recently integrated into the pack. Noah shook his head in amusement; the McCall pack was like a celebrity pack in the community, both in terms of power, influence, connections, and popularity.

"We can't be certain that we got all of her fanatics tonight," Scott continued, "but if everyone's willing to cooperate, we'd like us all to work together to apprehend and put them away. This isn't something that one pack alone can do, so I really hope we could all work on this together, not just for our own personal benefits, but to ensure peace for everyone."

Cheers, howls, and roars of agreement answered Scott, and Noah watched the young Alpha smile in relief.

"They really do grow up fast, don't they?"

Noah turned to look at Melissa beside him, her head resting on Chris Argent's shoulder, her face looking fond and tired at the same time.

"Faster than we'd hoped," Noah replied silently, "they turned out great better for it though."

Noah took notice of the proud look on Argent's face, and knew that even though he wished Allison could be part of all of this, he was just as proud of the kids-turned-grown ups in front of him.

"It's a dangerous life they lead," Chris said quietly, "but they're good. They're good."

And despite Stiles's crazy plans, Lydia's equally crazy intellect, Scott's immaculate talent to boyishly charm everyone to his favor; despite all the blood and grudges and _history_ they all have, Noah could give his son that credit.

He could give everyone here some credit.

Being the parent to everyone wasn't easy, but he wouldn't have it any other way.

"Yeah. Yeah, they are."

 

* * *

 

"Cora?"

"I see Uncle Peter has been cashing out the money."

"Derek? What are you two doing here?"

Derek only greeted him with a wordless nod, as Cora traipsed inside the new apartment. Stiles had only finished his first year of being in the pre-FBI program, and it had been both heaven and hell for Stiles since then. Heaven, because he is actually learning stuff relevant to his interests and what he wants to do in life, and hell, because Agent Ralph McCall.

Stiles is convinced that Agent McCall is trying to set up a Supernatural Division in the FBI - one of the most probable reasons why he endorsed Stiles in the program in the first place, plus his excellent transcripts - and he and Stiles will be the first members.

"Brazil had been fun, but Derek's been telling me all about Beacon Hills and the shitstorm you're all dealing with, so I thought it'd be fun to drop by and see you guys."

"If it's checking in with anybody, shouldn't it be with Scott? Who is on the other side of the country? He is the Alpha."

Cora raised an eyebrow at him. "You were closer."

Stiles wanted to call bullshit on that one, but decided against it. He's sure she and Derek have their reasons.

"Did Peter really get you this apartment?" Derek asked from behind him. Stiles twisted around to look at him and rolled his eyes.

"Yeah. This was actually Hale property that wasn't liquidized before, and he only had this place fixed up a few months ago so he could put it on the market. When he heard I was looking for a place to live within the area, he gave me a call and we met up. Before I knew it, Peter was having me signing ownership papers to this place."

"And uncle couldn't have called us to offer the place instead?" Cora grumbled.

"I asked him about you two, actually," Stiles replied, "but he was convinced you and Derek would stay out of North America for the foreseeable future after the war with Monroe."

"I wasn't even part of that," Cora pointed out, "but whatever. Mind if we crash here from time to time?"

"Crash where? I haven't even unpacked yet, much less get a couch or a new bed. And I don't mind, this is Hale property anyway. Well, was."

Cora tossed him a pleased smile, before helping herself towards the second floor.

"Why did Peter get you this place? Not that I'm not glad you have your own place now," Derek asked, walking over to stand beside him.

"Setting roots, apparently," Stiles replied, "He got Malia a place in France too, and offered Scott his own place in Cali. Last I heard, the pack house in the preserve is well under construction and going well. Peter said it was to make amends with Scott, that even if he was no longer Scott's Alpha, at least let him provide him with something that could help. And yeah, setting roots for a growing pack."

"That sounds like something Peter would say, before the fire," Derek said, a small smile on his face, "he's always been ostentatiously generous, especially to those he's grown fond of."

"Why would he be fond of me? I burned him and killed him at one point."

Derek chuckled. "That's probably why."

"That is just messed up."

From upstairs, Stiles heard Cora pick out a bedroom. "I call dibs on the bedroom with the balcony!"

"This place is Peter's gift to you," Derek spoke, "you sure you don't mind me and Cora being here from time to time?"

Stile laughed. "Nah. This place is already spacious for an ordinary apartment, and it has like, three floors. Too big for just one person. I wouldn't mind the company at all."

Derek gave him a gentle smile.

"Lydia's coming in next week to help me pick out furniture. We could use a few people with werewolf strength to help us move stuff around."

The answering laugh from Derek elicits a laugh from Stiles as well, and as Derek walked over to the kitchen area, Stiles turned around to take the place in. He can already imagine the place in the future: late night board games with Cora, falling asleep to books to be read with Derek, arguing dinner schedules, Lydia taking over half his closet space, and the pack, coming in to visit from time to time. He can imagine Scott and him monopolizing the couch playing video games, Jackson talking smack about the place and getting slapped on the head by Ethan, and Malia asking if the apartment had a basement.

Stiles listens to Cora clamber downstairs and join his brother in the kitchen, discussing what to paint the walls, and he listens, absently, running his fingers across a leather bracelet on his wrist, then a single band ring on his ring finger, before the golden locket around his neck, hidden from view under his shirt. He felt like wearing them today.

He has no idea what kind of future they have yet, but having the pack, he doesn't need to worry so much. Right now, no supernatural threat or shenanigans from Monroe can scare him.

Right now, things finally feel like they're falling into place.

Stiles hums to himself, allowing the moment to bathe him the sweet glow of joy.

He doesn't know yet that this moment will be the first of many more happy things to come, but looking at Derek bantering with Cora, Stiles felt that doesn't need to worry about the things that could go wrong. He'd rather focus on the things that could go right.

 

* * *

 

_"Don't you ever feel frustrated about leaving Beacon Hills with more questions than answers?"_

_"Not really."_

_Lydia threw him a curious look._

_"...And why is that?"_

_Stiles wasn't really sure why that was his answer, or when, upon answering Lydia's question, he realized he stopped asking himself all these questions that three to four years ago, would have demanded his complete attention to the point of being perpetually distracted and sleeping late nights until he got his answers._

_Growing older and living his experiences though, Stiles was finally seeing, was in itself the answer to his questions._

_"I guess...I'm slowly discovering that even if you don't actively ask the questions that keep you up at night, you get your answers eventually anyway. Sometimes, we even get the answers to the questions we never thought to ask but are still relevant, and I guess that's what matters most."_

_"That we get the answers to our questions eventually?"_

_"No. That we learn the truth about things, whether we asked to know them or not."_

 

* * *

 

And this?

Things are so very right.

 


End file.
